


Redemption

by Nikki66



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Character Death, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feels, Fenders, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Frottage, Grief/Mourning, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Oral Sex, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-05 23:02:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 43,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6726907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikki66/pseuds/Nikki66
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the Chantry destroyed, and Anders gone, Hawke confides startling information to Fenris. So begins an adventure.</p><p>Things are not always as they seem.</p><p>Slow burn--eventual Fenders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> *FYI: I wrote this before obtaining WoTv2; which means I had the timeline wrong between DA2 and DAI. Enjoy the story, anyway!* 
> 
> This is the first fan fiction I ever wrote (way back in February 2016).
> 
> I grew dissatisfied with it, and put it on a back-burner.  
> Recently, I took another look, and thought, 'Hey, there's good stuff here."  
> So, I decided to brush it off, do a little editing, and see how it fares.

Anders was dead.

The Chantry was destroyed.

Kirkwall was in chaos.

Hawke’s crew, along with the templars under Knight Captain Cullen’s command, had prevailed against Meredith’s mad, red-lyrium-induced mania. 

Fenris walked through Hightown. The damage was unspeakable, even at a fair distance from the Chantry. He felt anger boil up inside him at the memory of Anders, proclaiming his act of terrorism to be justified. The elf sneered. Justice. He’d heard enough of that word to last him a lifetime.

He turned up the stairs toward the Amell Estate. He was baffled by Hawke’s response to Anders’ act. She’d defended him, was going to let him go, let him fight beside them to protect the mages. Fenris had stayed his own hand only due to his respect and devotion for Hawke. 

Sebastian had had no such compunctions. His arrow flew true, striking Anders’ heart, traveling through and through. He’d dropped the abomination before the mage knew he’d been hit. Hawke had been livid. And, devastated.

The battle had begun, then, and they’d all been swept into the fight. At the end, at the terrible, horrifying end, Meredith was reduced to a lyrium statue among the remains of those she’d animated and sent against them all. Hawke was a hero, once again. 

She’d insisted on going back to find Anders’ body. It was nowhere to be found. Hawke had wept piteously. In spite of Fenris’ own affection for her, all he could think was, ‘good riddance’.

Now, the morning after the nightmare, he let himself into Hawke’s home. It was eerily quiet, especially after the chaos outside. He found her sitting on her bed, still in her battle robes, covered in dust, blood and ichor. Her brilliant blue eyes were downcast.

“Hawke... you need to rest,” he began.

“I can’t.”

“You’ve saved the city. You’re exhausted. You’ve earned a rest.” He sat beside her. “You’re not still upset over that mage, are you?”

She sighed. “Yes, Fenris. I am still upset over Anders. He was my friend, as much as you are. He would never have done this without Justice goading him on.”

“Abominations do this kind of thing. You know that. How many have we killed over the years? Anders was a bit slower to get around to it, but he showed his true nature. Just as all demon-possessed do.”

She shook her head. “You didn’t know him like I did. He was a good man.”

“He was an abomination, set on destruction, so certain he knew better than anyone. He deserved to die.”

Hawke sighed heavily. She slowly walked to her bathroom, and used the luxury of indoor water pumps to fill her bathtub. “I’m going to clean-up, Fenris. Will you stay and talk with me? I don’t want to be alone.”

“Of course.” 

He sat on her bed, thinking to himself, as Hawke moved behind the privacy screen surrounding the tub. He heard her peeling off her robes and climbing into the bath. 

Hawke was his dearest friend. His only friend, really. He got on well enough with the rest of the group; but, Hawke... she was special. She’d been the first to truly accept him, since he’d run from slavery. She’d helped him kill Hadriana. She’d taught him how to read. She’d fought beside him against Danarius. She taught him the beauty of friendship. As far as Fenris was concerned, Hawke was all that was right and wonderful in the world.

Hawke had spent a lot of time with Anders, he knew. They had seemed to be close. He’d always thought it was simply a matter of them both being mages, as well as Hawke’s soft-hearted nature. 

Hawke was alone. Her sister had died in Ferelden, during the Blight. Carver had died in the Deep Roads. Leandra had been murdered by a madman. Her little Band of Misfits had become her family. 

He noticed a box sitting near the bed. Looking inside, he recognized the handwriting on some papers as Anders’. He reached inside and pulled out a pillow... it was old, worn, the embroidery colors faded. There were also journals, books... these were the abomination’s belongings. He wondered, now--had there been more between Hawke and Anders than friendship?

He walked to the doorway of the bathing room, and leaned against the doorjam. “Hawke... it’s none of my business, but....” he paused. Did it matter, now? The abomination was dead. 

Her voice came from behind the screen. “Go ahead.”

“Were you and Anders... intimate?”

There was a pause, before she replied. “Intimate? Why do you ask?”

“You seem... very upset at his death. I thought there might be more to your friendship than I had assumed.”

He heard gentle splashing. “No. We weren’t lovers, Fenris. We were friends. Good friends. He was so much more than you will ever know. So much more than Justice.”

“You’re right about that. I’ll never know. I’ll never believe it.”

She started to weep, then, and Fenris regretted speaking his thoughts. “Hawke... I’m sorry. I....”

“You don’t understand,” she said, tearily. “I cared for him as much as I care for you or Varric. How would you feel if I had died, instead?”

Fenris blinked. He didn’t want to think about that, at all. “I would be devastated.”

“And, that’s how I feel for losing Anders. Every time I hear you disparage his memory, it breaks my heart even more.” She let loose a new freshet of sobs. “I don’t even have his body for cremation.”

Fenris didn’t reply. He didn’t know what to say. He cared for this woman more than any person in his entire life. But, he just couldn’t find empathy where that abomination was concerned. He moved back to sit on the bed. 

“Fenris... there’s something you should know. I’d rather tell you after some food. Alright?”

“Of course.” He didn’t know why, but he was sure he wasn’t going to like it.

As it turned out, he didn’t like it. Not at all. 

She didn’t sugar-coat it, either. Didn’t lead into it with easing-the-blow words, or platitudes. True to her nature, she said it, forthright and without hesitation.

“I’m dying, Fenris.”

 

\-------------

 

Since she’d been a child, and her magic first manifested, there had been something not quite... right. Her mana was erratic. Not the usual uncontrolled magic of youth. At times she had no mana, at all, for no reason. Others, she overflowed with it. When that occurred, she became dizzy, weak, and developed tremors. Using magic to consume the mana wasn’t effective. It was like using a thimble to bail out a sinking boat.

Her father had searched for information regarding the problem. But, as an apostate, it was difficult to get materials or ask questions. And, then, once she hit puberty, it seemed to stabilize. That is, until shortly after she’d reached Kirkwall.

She and her mother both recognized the symptoms. At the time, she’d known only one other mage in the area. He happened to be a healer. She went to Anders, and explained the situation. 

He’d never heard of it, either. But, as he examined her, his hand came to rest on her forehead. He lit blue with Justice’s power. And, her mana dropped. Not to normal levels, but enough to relieve the symptoms. 

Anders had no idea why it had happened. With many trial and errors--and there were many--they came to realize that her mana would drain, just to a certain level, with Justice’s power. When Hawke’s symptoms would surface, Anders used Justice to drain the mana as far as possible.

Anders spent more time searching for answers to Hawke’s dilemma than he did working for mage rights. He found no information. Even Marethari, the Dalish Keeper, had no knowledge of the problem. As the years passed, her mana overload increased. Justice could not drain the energy even as far as before. Hawke’s symptoms became more debilitating and difficult to overcome. Judging by the rate at which her symptoms’ severity increased, Anders feared she had only months left. If a solution could not be found, Hawke would die. 

\-------------

“I have already sent a letter ahead. We will take ship tonight... actually, in about an hour. It takes two weeks to cross the Waking Sea, and several days to get to the Circle. Hawke... pack!”

Fenris had rifled through Hawke’s wardrobe, and found her travel pack. Now, he tried to get Hawke packed and to the dock in time to make the boat.

“Why the Ferelden Circle? Why, at all? Anders was one of the most knowledgable healers I’ve ever heard of. If he couldn’t cure me....”

“He was not your only hope, Hawke. I spoke to Cullen. He has knowledge about the workings in other Circles. Right now, Ferelden has the best healers in Thedas... well, that we can reach, anyway. We’re going.”

“It’s cutting it close. After travel-time, I may only have a few weeks left by the time we get there.”

“Which is why I need you packing, Hawke.”

Hawke shook her head. “Well, even if it doesn’t work... I’ll at least get to go back to Ferelden. I’ve missed my homeland.”

Fenris stopped shoving clothing into her pack, and grabbed her shoulders. “It will work, Hawke. It has to work.” He resumed her packing, and then asked, “Where are Anders’ notes? The ones he wrote regarding your condition, not that ridiculous manifesto. We should send them ahead when we get to the docks. Maybe this Senior Enchanter can read them before we arrive, make some sense of them.”

“I’m surprised you’d credit Anders with any plausibility.” 

“Well, that might be taking it too far. But, I’m not about to overlook any clue, no matter how far-fetched.”


	2. Voyage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Hawke make a few confessions.

They stood on the deck of the ship, leaning against each other to hold balance on the rocking deck. “Isabella spoke of it, but seeing it is something else. I’ve never seen so many stars,” Hawke said with wonder. 

“In the city, the lights blur the smaller ones. Out here, there is nothing to detract from the starlight.” Fernis said. He stepped behind her and pointed over her head at a constellation. “That is the Constellation Fenrir.”

“Are you named for it?”

“Mm. Not exactly. Denarius chose my name, but I doubt it was after the constellation.”

“Does it bother you to have the name he picked for you?”

Aveline had once posed a similar question. He knew that he’d been named, like a pet; but had never considered changing it. “I have never thought about it.”

“I kind of like that the name given you as a slave, is now that of a free man. Every time someone says your name, it’s like a big ‘up yours’ to slavery.” 

Two men passed them, then stopped. One of them spoke, “Miss? Is this knife-ear harassing you?”

Fenris growled deep in his throat. His hand twitched with the instinct to go for his blade.

Hawke responded before he could. “Absolutely not. But, you are. Call him knife-ear again, I’ll whittle points on yours.”

“Elf-loving bitch,” he spat, moving away.

“Smooooth,” Fenris intoned. 

“And, you taking his head would be any smoother?”

“It would have been more satisfying.”

\------------------

They spent most of the voyage in their tiny cabin. It became clear that a human woman, in the company of an elven male, was not well-received by many on-board. Hawke was confused by this. She didn’t recall that it had been a problem in Kirkwall and the outlying areas.

Fenris pointed out that they had rarely been alone, in public. Hawke tended to travel in a group. Plus, on the ship, they were sharing a cabin. It offended many human’s sensibilities.

So, in an effort to prevent one of them from giving more than a scathing retort, they locked-out the world. They read, played cards, talked. 

They had much to talk about. A decade of adventures and shared experiences. Their varying relationships with the Band of Misfits. Most of the time, Fenris enjoyed the conversation, greatly. Then, Hawke would bring up Anders.

“Why do you insist on remembering him as a good man? Have you forgotten the demon inside of him? Have you forgotten what he did?”

“Fenris, can you remember nothing but the spirit inside him? He was much more. What he did was terrible. But, it was not all that he was.”

“He was an abomination. That tells me all I need to know.”

“I disagree. You rarely saw him except in tense situations, on a job. He was touchier, then, Justice was more present. If you’d ever taken the time to know him outside of....”

“That would never have happened, Hawke. Not then, and if he was still alive, not now.”

“Nothing will ever redeem him, in your eyes?”

“No.”

“It’s really your loss, Fenris. Anders was a fine man. A good friend.”

“It’s a loss I’m happy to suffer.”

\----------------------

One day, Hawke’s topic of choice caught him by surprise.

“Have you ever had a lover, Fenris?’

They were relaxing in the relative warmth of their cabin, sitting on the bed, reading. The elf nearly dropped his book. “Why do you ask?”

She sighed. “I never have.”

“I find that surprising.”

“Why?”

“You are a beautiful woman, Hawke. I rather assumed you had... dalliances.”

“I’m particular.”

“Particular to what?”

“I don’t want just anybody. I want a particular somebody.”

He thought a moment. “Were you waiting for Anders?”

“What is it with me and Anders that you can’t get out of your head?”

“Nothing! He is certainly not in my head. He is, however, the man you spent the most time with. Besides Varric. And, I believe he is exclusive to his crossbow.” He paused. “Or... is it a woman you desired? Perhaps, Isabela?”

Hawke threw her head back and laughed. “Isabela? Do you think that if I’d wanted her, I wouldn’t have had her?”

“She does seem rather easy for the taking.” She’d even invited Fenris to bed, a year or so, ago. He’d declined. He had no interest in frivolous sex.

She sighed. “There is a man I desire, but he’s never given me any indication that he was interested.”

“Then, he is a fool, and not worthy of your time.” 

She laughed. “You are so clueless. I can’t believe you have no idea who I’m talking about.”

“Is there a reason I should know?” He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know. Thinking of Hawke with any lover was making him decidedly uncomfortable. She was beyond a simple tumble. She deserved better. She deserved to be worshipped.

“Do you remember the first time we met?”

He smirked. “I do.”

“What did I say about Danarius taking the lyrium from your skin?”

“That... you could think of better uses for a handsome.... oh.” Hawke desired him? He was the fool. “Hawke, have you felt this way all these years? And, never said a thing?”

“Fenris, I said many things. You never reciprocated. I finally gave up.”

“What makes you try again?” Had she said things? Had he been blind? He felt his insides fluttering. 

“I’m not sure I’ll have a chance, later,” she said, quietly.

“Don’t say that, Hawke.”

“I’m not going to live in a fantasy of denial, Fenris. My own mana is eating me alive. If I want something, I have to take it.”

“Even if that something should be me?” Oh, he wanted that something to be him. 

“Well, only if you’re interested. I don’t know how you feel. About me.” 

He didn’t know how to answer. How could he put his feelings for Hawke into words? He respected her. Adored her. Worshipped her. It had never occurred to him that she might wish something more... intimate... with him. No one had ever wished something intimate with him. What Danarius had done did not count. 

“No,” he replied.

Hawke’s face fell. “Oh.”

“No! I mean... no, I have never had a lover. Your original question.”

Her smile was breathtaking. “Oh! Well, truly? Why not?”

“It never occurred to me that anyone would be interested.”

“I’m interested.” She tilted her head, gazing at him with twinkling blue eyes. The thought of... with her.... He was filled with anticipation. And, dread.

He wasn’t entirely clueless. He had seen the sex act, many times. He had been a participant. Even at that, all he knew how to do was accept what was forced upon him. Danarius had not been a lover. He had been detestable. 

“You would likely be disappointed. I have no idea how to proceed.” He felt his ears redden in his embarrassment. 

He suddenly found himself with a lapful of Hawke. He’d never been so close to her. Her breath was hot on his face. He could smell the scent of her skin. Up close, her eyes were even more startling blue. His heart went into double-time.

“Well, then. We’ll just have to learn, together,” she said. Always so brave. Always ready to jump in, feet first. If she had been brave enough to make these first steps, he could try to make the next one.

He slowly lowered his mouth, ghosting his lips over hers, lightly brushing them together. Hawke returned the movement. He pressed their lips together more firmly. His entire body reacted to the contact. Fenris had never imagined that kissing would be so consuming. He’d rather assumed it was an activity restricted to the mouth. How the connection between their lips sent coils of pleasure through his chest and belly was beyond him. 

The air around them turned heavy, humid, thick with longing. Hearing the small sighs and gasps she made as their lips parted, met, slid against each other, again and again and again... his entire body quivered with anticipation of each new sensation.

So much was new: the taste of her mouth and skin of her neck; the feel of her fingers grazing down the lyrium lines of his throat, or her breath against his ear. The way a bite on his neck or jawline could make his belly quaver. He tentatively stroked his tongue along the silken, full curve of her lower lip, and was overwhelmed with ardor. How could such a simple act--one he’d observed in the impassioned kisses of others and thought distasteful--be so stimulating? How could her own tongue, questing in return, make his insides contract in head-spinning pleasure?

As Hawke’s body pressed closer to his, the warm, sweet heaviness that had settled in his belly gave way to something more demanding. When her center settled against his, a hot spike of desire shot down his spine and into his groin. 

He lay her back on the bed, falling with her to the mattress. The soft feelings became sharp, the melting became boiling. His markings flared under her hands wherever she touched him, shooting bolts of pleasure along the lines’ sweeping paths. His hardened shaft was insistent, prodding her belly through his leggings with urgent need. She gasped into their kiss, swallowing his moan that seemed to pull from a deep, ancient place within him.

“Fenris,” she whispered.

“Hawke,” he gasped.

“I love you, Fenris. I have for years. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

He swallowed, his heart trying to pound its way into his throat. “As have I, Hawke. I never imagined....”

Her response was heated. Her tongue sought his, hands slid under his shirt and along his back, legs entwined with his. His body reacted like flame to tinder. He felt his body burn with heat. He wanted... oh, he wanted. Tight coils of desire surged through his loins, his belly overrun with madly fluttering moths. All of him wanted. 

As she began to pull off his shirt, then her own, her thigh thrust between his legs in just the right position. His hips slid against hers, the friction along his shaft electrifying. He moaned into their kiss, needy and deep. Her fingers ran along the lyrium lines, and sent jolts racing to his entire body. He cupped her breasts, feeling the hardened nipples nudge his palms. There wasn’t a part of her that didn’t incite him, a sound she made that didn’t excite him. 

Her hand was tracing carefully down his belly, then slid beneath his waistband into his pants. She stroked his length through his small clothes. Their kiss broke off as he moaned, long and loud. When she slid that hand under the fabric, and gripped him in her hand, skin to skin, he was undone. Yes, he did have lyrium lines that wound along his cock, a fact Isabella had tried unsuccessfully to learn for years. If the lines on his body had reacted favorably to Hawke’s touch, those on his member exploded in sensation.

His pelvis thrust forward. He moaned... cried out... whimpered... in desperate pleasure.

“Hawke... Hawke.... I... please be sure you want this... I am... oh, Hawke, the feeling....” He was writhing against her, his body in a torment of sensation.

She grabbed a fistful of his hair with her other hand, bringing his mouth back to hers in a claiming kiss. “Fenris, there is nothing I want more,” she whispered fiercely.

His voice was a harsh whisper in return. “I am yours.”

His hands frantically managed to undo her own trousers, and pushed them down and off. She was doing the same to his, and he finished for her, leaving them both naked, bodies cleaving together. He was thrusting himself against her belly unashamedly, pulling her hips against him with a strong hand curving around her rear. 

He rolled atop her, teeth sunk into her neck, nestling himself in the cradle of her thighs. He could hear her moans when he drew breath between his own. She reached down and dug her fingers into his ass, pulling him against her, and that was the final straw.

Pulling back, he prodded, found her hot, slick entrance, and thrust. 

He was unprepared for the total, consuming sensory overload.

She cried out beneath him, whether in pleasure or pain, was unclear. The way she grabbed his head and plundered his mouth again seemed to signal pleasure. He was frozen a moment as he gasped through the onslaught of sensation detonating from his cock. If the touch of her hand on him had been overwhelming, the feel of her body--slick, hot, tight-- was an exaltation of ecstasy. 

And, then... he had to move. Had to. His nervous system exploded in unimagined pleasure with his second thrust. His lyrium lines were blinding, flaring with an intensity he’d never experienced. He thrust again... again.... again. He was making the most desperately needy cries, couldn’t stop, couldn’t care. He felt Hawke beneath him, around him, crying out in counterpoint to his cries. He dropped his forehead to hers, breaths mingling as they struggled together toward whatever end was rushing at them.

He began to pound into her, her legs wrapped tightly about his waist, lost in the rapture, lost in her. He could feel the pleasure pulling tight in his groin, intense, nearly painful, the promise of utter bliss, just out of reach, just there, if he could strive just a bit more.... closer... oh, closer.... Maker.... so... close.... 

Hawke cried-out, her body suddenly spasmed around him; a grip so tight it stole his breath, and he was gone. With a snap of blinding white light, he was caught in an agony of pleasure... arching his back in a rictus of unbearable release. 

And, through the pulsing ecstasy broke images... people... places... voices... his life.... all of his lost memories, flooding his mind in a torrent. 

Then... they were gone.

He collapsed atop Hawke’s body, both of them with heaving lungs, trembling limbs, twitching bodies. He was torn between the ecstasy he’d just shared with her, and the pain of receiving his memories, only to have them snatched away. He wrapped himself around her, his heart flooded both with love and loss. 

“Hawke,” he whispered, completion and desolation in his voice.

“Oh, Fenris,” she replied, holding him in return. “Are you alright?”

He nodded, head buried in her shoulder. “You transport me. You are all that is good in this world.” He tried to sink lower, to meld with her completely.

She stroked his back, his faded lyrium giving the barest flare at her touch. “You’re feeling something else, as well, aren’t you?”

He lifted his head to give her a longing kiss. “You know me so well,” he gave a small, sad smile. “Yes, something happened.” He moved off of her, and pulled her against him, feeling as though he could never stop touching her.

“My memories... they all came back to me,” he explained.

“Fenris! Oh, that’s incredible!”

“It was... but, they left, again. I knew everything, for just a second... everything.” 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Maybe, if we do this again... they will stay? Maybe you need to build up to it?”

“Mmm. I don’t know. Making love with you was the singularly most pleasurable thing I have ever felt. But, losing the memories hurt,” he confessed. “Hawke, I cannot tell you how you made me feel. There are no words.”

“I have a pretty good idea,” she smiled.

“I doubt it. It is not possible that I made you feel as good as you made me.”

“I think you’ve got that backward, love. No way did I give you the pleasure that you gave me.”

“Well. That settles it. We will do this again, and resolve this dispute.”

“I’m willing. Perhaps a little wager?”

“Minx.... prepare to be proven wrong.”

“Is that supposed to be a deterrent?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I were Hawke, and I'd been in love with Fenris for freaking YEARS, and I was dying--hell, YES, I'd confess! 
> 
> I don't know if a male elf and a female human sharing a cabin as they traveled alone would really be a big deal, or not. In my mind, it would, to certain kinds of people.
> 
> to be continued....


	3. Destinations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Hawke learn about joy.
> 
> What does Kinloch Hold have in store?

They did try again. And, again. And, again. The memories returned. With each peak he reached, they flooded his mind... only to recede as a wave returns to the ocean. 

Each time, it hurt to lose them. But, in the way that he had stifled so many pains throughout his life, he accepted what would be, and let it go. He anticipated their return and departure, and focused instead on the pleasures that seemed to trigger their arrival.

For pleasures, there were. Their next few joinings were as frantic as their first, all heat, desperation and agonizing need. Then, they began to explore. Their hands investigated those new territories they’d discovered. Touch, taste, scent... all were learned and put to memory. It seemed there was no end to the variety of ways to give pleasure to one another. 

Fenris had seen countless couplings during his remembered life. Masters and mistresses used slaves openly. Occasionally, slaves were coupled publicly, as entertainment. Distasteful as these memories were, he found them useful as instructive tools. It otherwise might not have occurred to him that his mouth, plundering her honeyed minge, could bring her such ecstasy. He hesitated when she went to return the favor; memories of serving Danarius skirted the edges of his mind. Even so, it was easy to decide that he would not let his bad history infringe in their lovemaking. It turned out to be a moot point, anyway. From the moment she ran her tongue along the lyrium lines of his shaft, bliss chased all demons from his mind.

The last days of their voyage were spent locked in their tiny cabin. Gasps, moans, shouts of ecstasy, filled the air. They ignored the uncertain future, fulfillment their only concern, as he ecstatically emptied himself into her, time and time again. 

Finally, the distant cry of “Land ho!” reached their ears. Face filled with excitement and dread, Hawke pulled him to her for a searching kiss. She ran her fingers through his hair, pushing it back to look into his eyes. 

“Here we go,” she said.

They dressed and packed quickly, eager to head on deck. When they opened the door, fresh air buffeted them. They exchanged smirks. With the door open, it was clear that their cabin was redolent with the smell of sex. They took their packs, and made for the sunlight.

Once up top, they realized that there would be several hours before making landfall. The Ferelden coastline was a blurry smudge on the horizon. They weren’t alone in their anxiety to make land. The deck was crowded with passengers, all finding places to sit or recline as they awaited docking. Fenris found a large rope coil, and sat in the middle, head resting on one side, long legs stretched over the other. Hawke reclined next to him, using his shoulder as a pillow. The sun was overhead, barely warm, but pleasant in the cool air. 

A shadow fell across them and didn’t move on. Opening his eyes, Fenris saw several men looking down at them. They looked distinctly unfriendly. He nudged Hawke, who sat up.

He sat up as well, assessing the three. They wore only simple daggers, but looked dangerously unhappy. 

One of the men spoke. “Some folk on this boat don’t take well to knife ears defiling our women.”

“Don’t care for our women whoring themselves to elves, neither.” said the next.

The last spoke up. “Right, makin’ a ruckus like that, for days on end... what are we to think? It ain’t right, see.”

Hawke spoke up. “I suppose you’re to think that he’s more man than all three of you together could hope to be.”

“Hawke....” Fenris warned quietly.

“That so? I’m thinkin’ the three of us just clip those ears of his, along with his pecker, and toss him overboard. Then, we’ll teach you what a real man can do.”

Fenris rose to his respectable height. He pulled Hawke behind him with one hand, reaching over his shoulder to grip his sword with the other. “You would threaten to molest this woman?” he growled, lip raised in a snarl. He was ready to slice these men down, regardless of the consequences.

The men looked uneasy, but the one who’d made the threat wasn’t ready to back down. “Not threatenin’ nobody, knife ear. Promisin’.”

With a ring of metal, Fenris’ broadsword was in both hands, lyrium flashing brightly. “Now, we shall see!”

Hawke shoved herself in front of him, facing the soon-to-be-dead men. “Fenris! NO!”

The men stumbled backward at the sight of the lyrium flare, tripping over each other’s feet to fall in a heap; all eyes jumping between his tattoos and the huge blade raised above.

“Maker’s balls!” “What the fuck?” “Shite!”

Fenris was trying to sidestep Hawke’s form, but she danced in his way however he moved. “Hawke! Make way!”

“I’m not swimming the rest of the way to shore, Fenris!” She snapped.

“Maker, don’t kill us!” One of the men whimpered in falsetto terror.

Fenris stopped his jockeying for position. “You wish to let them go? Did you not hear their vile words?” His disbelief was clear.

Hawke was looking down at the men cowering at their feet. She smirked. “I don’t know... they look pretty sorry, now.”

“We are! We are sorry!” one cried. A crowd had begun to gather, milling at a safe distance.

Hawke continued. “I’m sure it was just their way of compensating for their tiny pricks,” she said, encouragingly. “Am I right?” she directed at the men.

They continued staring at Fenris, in full battle-ready posture, lyrium lines blazing, blade held aloft steadily. They muttered in reply, heads hanging, darting furtive glances at the elf towering over them.

“See, love?” She turned to the men, “Just say, ‘I’m sorry I have a tiny prick,’ and I’m sure my elven lover will let you go.”

The men replied, in varying volumes and tones of fear. The crowd laughed.

“Get,” Hawke commanded. The men scrambled to their feet and fled among continued cat-calls and jeers.

She turned to Fenris, who was slowly lowering his blade, lyrium fading. He looked bewildered, watching the men retreat and crowd disperse. 

“You are my hero,” she crooned, planting a kiss on his lips. He returned the kiss half-heartedly, his mouth still ajar at the turn of events. He slid his blade back in place, looking at Hawke with confusion. She laughed at his expression, and pulled him back down to sit on the rope coil. “Well, thank the Maker we got that over with.”

“You... expected that?”

“You didn’t?” She chuckled, again. “Of course, I did. Did you not hear us, during the past couple days? I imagine the whole boat heard us. Like you said, we offend their sensibilities.”

He shook his head. “I regret that our personal activities were broadcast to the entire ship,” he sighed.

“Well, maybe not to the entire ship. Fenris... surely you don’t regret the cause of our ruckus?”

He smiled; the rarely seen Fenris-grin. “Never.”

\------------------------

Kinloch Hold was both like, and unlike, the Kirkwall Gallows. It sat on the water, accessible only by boat. It was tall, imposing. But, there were no forbidding statues surrounding it, no ancient execution site to strike fear in visitors. It looked, frankly, very plain.

Taking the small boat to the hold, he imagined Anders living on the island, making attempt after attempt to escape. He was mildly impressed that he’d been able to swim from the hold to the shore. It was cold, and the water choppy.

Once inside, he felt he’d walked into a Chantry. Unlike the Gallows, with its prison doors and Tevinter slave statues, Kinloch was decorated with Andrastean statues. It was quiet, with lamplight, rugs and tapestries adorning the entryway. 

They were somberly greeted by a Templar, who then led them to the third floor to meet the Knight Commander and First Enchanter. 

Fenris had heard of the Circle’s fall during the Blight. There was no sign of it now, ten year’s past. As they walked through the circuitous halls, past mage quarters, a library, Chantry, he could feel a difference between this Circle and the Gallows. The Templars were attentive to their duties, certainly, but there was no air of abject fear to be detected. Mages engaged in studies, or conversations; quietly, to be sure, but without the paranoid humility he’d come to know at the Gallows. There were also far, far fewer Tranquil in evidence, here.

The First Enchanter, and Knight Commander Greagoir were both seated in Greagoir’s office, talking quietly. Again, Fenris was surprised. He’d only observed a few interactions between Meredith and Orsino in Kirkwall, but the difference couldn’t be greater. These two men spoke with respect to one another. There appeared to be a familiarity between them, though Fenris didn’t think it extended as far as friendship. 

They both greeted Hawke and Fenris politely. They’d been discussing Hawke’s issue since receiving Fenris’ letters. Greagoir seemed only interested in confirming that Hawke was not, indeed, an abomination. He didn’t seem entirely pleased to have an unknown mage walking into his Circle, this way. At Fenris’ behest, Cullen had sent a letter, vouching for Hawke’s reputation, and position in Kirkwall. The First Enchanter was more interested in Hawke’s situation. After clarifying their expectations, an apprentice mage was summoned to show them to their room.

After the cabin in the ship, their assigned chamber was like a ballroom. It had a huge bed, which Hawke looked at, then quirked an eyebrow at Fenris. He gave a small smirk, but his interest was elsewhere. He wanted to meet the healers, learn their thoughts, save Hawke’s life. 

The apprentice spoke up. “Enchanter Florence has been doing nothing but research and experiments since she received your letters,” he said, excitedly. “She’s inexhaustible, and hasn’t let up. She’s in the middle of an experiment right now, and can’t be disturbed. If you want to bathe and rest, someone will come for you as soon as she’s through. She’s anxious to meet you.”

Fenris relaxed a bit, hearing that. “We would, thank you,” he answered, and ushered the mage out their door, closing it behind her. He looked at the large bath in the corner. It was wide, long and deep.

Letting the tub fill, they stripped naked. They gravitated to each other’s body, as they seemed unable to resist since their first kiss. Amusing themselves that way until the tub filled, Fenris noticed a mirror on the wall next to the tub. He turned Hawke around so both faced it, and lowered his mouth to her shoulder, hands sliding down her ribs, waist, hips. She reached up, curving her hands around his neck, tilting her head to allow him free access to her neck and shoulder. 

“Hawke, you are beautiful,” he said, his deep voice smooth as honey.

“Thank you, love. You’re dazzling.”

Both watched themselves in the mirror, the view inciting their ever-present lust. 

Fenris noticed the water reaching the right depth, and moved to turn the spout handles. They grinned as they stepped into the water and sank with twin sighs. They leaned against opposite ends of the tub, vying to see who could do the naughtiest things to the other with their feet. They were raunchy in their efforts, and soon dissolved in laughter; then began tickling. Fenris’ feet were too calloused to be ticklish, but Hawke’s were not. She twisted and squirmed, trying to pull her feet from his strong grip, laughing until she broke into loud hiccups. That made Fenris laugh with abandon, which so delighted her that she crawled up his lanky form to kiss his laughing mouth. 

As long as she was there, he scooped up the soap and began lathering her wet, smooth body. He scrubbed her everywhere, then began on her short, dark hair. She rolled over, reclining with her back against him, and luxuriated in his fingers massaging her scalp. When he declared she was done, she ducked under to rinse. 

She took the soap from him and returned the favor. From toe to head, she soaped him, massaging the lather thoroughly into his body and hair. After he had ducked and rinsed, she smirked.

“I think I missed a spot.”

“Did you? I thought you were quite thorough,” he replied wryly. This was going to be enjoyable.

“No... I’d better take care of this....” she said, lathering her hands. Kneeling between his raised knees, she took his hardening shaft in her soapy hand, and stroked.

“Ahhhhhhh... Maker, Hawke,” he groaned. The slippery soap was brilliant, simply brilliant. As her other hand slicked around his sack, he bucked up. “Leave it to you to make soap dirty,” he gasped.

She grinned, working him to fullness, his lyrium lighting the water. He began pumping into her fist, sloshing water rinsing the soap away. She straddled his hips, sliding down to take his hardness within herself. She rode him slowly, her grin transformed into the expression he loved best... rapture. He took her hips in his hands, and helped guide her motion against his thrusts. She was peaking, and he wouldn’t be far behind. He panted with the tightening in his loins; watching his lover as she gyrated against him, head thrown back, cries growing desperate... he could watch this vision for the rest of his life.

Suddenly, she clenched around him, and his body spasmed in exquisite release, vision blinded by lightning, then overrun by memories. He opened his eyes to find her collapsed upon his chest, trembling in aftermath. He held her to his hammering heart, kissing the top of her wet head. This vision, at least, was real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First love's first pleasures... can't keep their hands off each other!
> 
> to be continued....


	4. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris suffers a loss. He also suffers a find.

Meeting Enchanter Florence was... intense. She was focused about, well, everything.  
She had a whole team working with her on Hawke’s situation. A half-dozen Tranquil, two healers and several Enchanters. Fenris was sure it had to do with his distinct use of Hawke’s title and nobility status in his letters.

The first thing Enchanter Florence wanted was a lot of blood. Fenris was anxious about it, given his history witnessing blood magic. Hawke saw is discomfort, and guessed his concern. So, she bluntly asked if her cure involved blood magic. 

The horrified response from every mage in the room set his mind at ease. Clearly, such a possibility was not taken lightly in this Circle. Some still recalled the result of blood magic overtaking the hold a decade ago.

Enchanter Florence questioned Hawke minutely regarding Anders’ work with her, and what part she felt Justice had played in it. She had pored over his notes extensively, and confirmed most of his conclusions.

By the end of the evening, Hawke was exhausted. Enchanter Florence sent them off to bed, and, looking like she had no intention of sleeping at all, gathered her items, hurrying into her lab.

Fenris curled around Hawke, who had fallen asleep when her head hit the pillow. He tried to relax into sleep, as well, but his mind was racing. He vacillated between hope and fear. Enchanter Florence clearly understood the issue at hand, and as much as he understood her theories, had some exceptional ideas. 

For days, Hawke had tests run. She was poked, had magic cast on her, cast magic of her own. Enchanter Florence tried different treatments. She referred to her texts and Anders’ notes. 

Hawke’s condition had begun to wane. She was dizzy and weak. She grew fatigued easily. Fenris fretted and worried. They had made the journey. They were here. This had to work.

Hawke did all that was asked of her. Even as tremors shook her, and dizziness kept her from walking without assist, she never wavered in her hope. For all that they’d tried, so far, nothing had made a difference. Hawke continued to be flooded in her own mana. She continued to slowly decline.

\-----------------------

One day, Enchanter Florence introduced them to Dagna. She was a dwarf who’d come from Orzammar to study lyrium and its relationship to the Fade and magic. She’d traveled as far as Tevinter, and to various Circles in her studies. She had just returned to the Circle, and was leaving Ferelden, again, shortly. She would remain long enough to assist with Hawke’s problem. Enchanter Florence felt the mana sickness was somehow related to how Hawke’s body processed lyrium. Dagna was going to use runes to decipher how Hawke’s body responded to both mana and lyrium.

She showed them the runes, and described the way the runes were going to both input energy into Hawke, as well as record information on her response.

“How do you record information in runes? Is it magical?” Fenris asked. 

“The Shaperate of Orzammar records all of its memories on runes! It’s a special technique that allows the creator of the rune to record his knowledge, his memories, in the rune. There’s no magic involved... dwarves don’t have magic! But, they have lyrium. It’s an amazing substance, it does so much, yet we really know so little about it. The lyrium captures the memories, and then it only needs to be stroked to pull up the memories. I’ll use a modified method to collect data from the energy Hawke produces.”

When it was time to break for a meal, Hawke asked Fenris to meet her in their room. She wanted to ask Dagna some private questions. She joined him after a half hour or so, looking very pleased. He didn’t press her for information. If she’d wanted to tell him, she would have. He was glad of her smiles, and was happy to walk with her to the dining hall.

By evening, she was severely fatigued. The afternoon had been more testing, for some of which he sent out of the room. Fenris worried, and did his best to ignore what he knew was the truth. Unless a solution was found--and soon--the end was nearing.

Despite her fatigue, she wanted to make love. Despite his worry, Fenris couldn’t refuse her. He was ready to do anything she wanted, however small. The thought of losing himself in the joy of her was compelling, in any case.

As he strove within her, climbing rapidly toward his peak, he felt her slide her fingers through his hair and grasp his head. He was vaguely curious, but then his climax broke over him, drawing him into shuddering rapture, and it left his mind.

Come morning, she was too weak to get out of bed. Fenris was in a state, running to find the Enchanter, demanding to know what was wrong. Enchanter Florence came to their room to work with her, saying she was closer to a possible treatment.

Fenris was beside himself. He spent the day alternately pacing, lying with Hawke in his arms, or bringing her food and drink that he thought would encourage her appetite. Hawke, for her part, seemed at peace with it all. She calmed Fenris with soft words and gentle humor. Finally, in the late afternoon, Enchanter Florence announced she would leave them for a while, to complete a process. Fenris paced, sat on the edge of the bed, paced some more.

“Fenris, love, help me sit up. I have something to give you.”

He hurried to do so, positioning pillows with extra care. “What is it, Hawke?”

She pulled a pouch from under her pillow, and pulled a stone from it. It was about the size of his thumb, tan colored, with a white rune inscribed upon it. “Is this a Memory Rune?” he asked.

“Yes. Dagna helped me make it.”

“What does it have recorded on it?”

“Some of my memories... ones I need you to see,” she said earnestly.

He was uneasy. Was she preparing him for her passing? Did she make a Memory Rune so he would not forget her? “Hawke, I do not need a Memory Rune to remember us....” he began with roughened voice.

“No, no, love. I’m not giving up on me, yet,” she smiled. He relaxed a bit. “I need you to see these... they’re things you wouldn’t know, because you didn’t see.” She thought a moment. “I need to show you Anders. I need you to understand that he was a good man....”

“Hawke. Please don’t bring that abomination into our time, right now. He’s the last person I want to discuss with you, when... when... I don’t want to argue when....” he couldn’t finish. He swallowed repeatedly past the lump forming in his throat.

Hawke placed a gentle hand on his cheek, smiling sadly. “Sweet Fenris... don’t give up hope, not yet.” She took the Rune from his hand, and looked at it, gathering her thoughts. “It’s important to me that you understand. He is worth understanding. I know your feelings about him, well enough, but please do this for me?”

Fenris sighed. He would do anything for her. He nodded.

She fiddled with the Rune as she talked. “Anders, without Justice’s influence, was truly a Healer. He cared so much, and gave so much. It makes perfect sense that he ultimately allowed Justice to share his soul... he wanted to help him. He also wanted to help mages, and Justice promised that.” 

She looked up at Fenris, and he kept silent, waiting for her to continue. “I know that Anders would never have done what he did without Justice overwhelming him. When Justice was fully present, he hammered at Anders, non-stop. He kept him from sleep, harangued him non-stop during the day; he beat Anders into submission with his words.”

Fenris didn’t reply, but he grudgingly understood. He’d had similar experiences with Hadriana and Danarius.

“Please, Fenris. Anders was important to me. No one will ever remember anything about him, now, besides his final act. Please, give him a chance to redeem himself.”

Fenris was not pleased, but he would do it. For Hawke. “What do you need me to do?”

She took his hand, and placed the Rune in it. “Stroke your finger over the Rune.”

Fenris, ignoring his misgivings, did so.

It was like entering a dream. Someone else’s dream. Images appeared to him, moving, like he was watching events unfold with his own eyes. There were snatches of voices, occasional clear comments. It was apparent that he was seeing the images from someone else’s point of view... through Hawke’s eyes.

Anders, hands blue with healing magic, worked over an old woman. When he finished, her arthritic hands reached up to his face, and pulled him down to rest his forehead against hers. He cupped her face in return, smiling at her unheard words.

Anders playing a card game, laying down his hand, laughing at the outcome. His voice, warm, friendly, appreciative, “you kicked my arse, Hawke!”

Anders in a battle with Hawke’s band in a Darktown street. He suddenly spun and crouched, his back to the battle, and took two arrows in his shoulder. He staggered when hit, and shoved a small child-- that he’d curled over protectively-- behind some crates, and out of harm’s way.

Anders standing in a field of wildflowers, laughing as he demonstrates a dance step, a bouquet of herbal flowers in each hand. His voice, rich and warm, laughing with abandon.

Anders walking through Darktown, bags in his arms, stopping to hand-out food to families that he passes, smiling, ruffling children’s hair.

Anders, face drawn. His hoarse voice, “I’m sorry, Hawke... I’m so sorry.”

Anders feverishly copying notes into a journal with one hand, as the other traces words in tome of healing magic.

Anders’ voice, “Hey, Hawke,” and then squeezing a fruit so the juice squirts her in the face.

Anders, face thoughtful, speaking softly. “I think he’s a good man. He’s angry. He has more right to despise mages than anyone.”

Anders holding a toddler’s still form in his arms, tears falling, as the parents take their child’s body. Then, turning to lean his head against the wall and sob.

And, more. Dozens and dozens more. Laughing, crying, fighting, healing, talking, caring. In none did he mention mage rights or speak bitterly. The warm brown eyes of the mage were filled with acceptance, adoration. He clearly loved Hawke, and respected her. What he saw in Anders’ eyes when he looked at Hawke in the memories were the same feelings Fenris had held for Hawke, before desire had entered their dynamic. He saw the truth in the images, heard the genuineness in Anders’ voice. Saw an Anders he’d never imagined existed.

When the memories stopped, his vision returned to the world around him. Hawke was quietly watching him. He couldn’t meet her eyes for a few moments, looking instead at the Rune in his hand. He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to care.

But, he did. 

He cleared his throat. “I understand.”

\--------------------------------------------

Hawke was overjoyed with Fenris’ response to her memories of Anders. She didn’t gloat, or try to discuss the images with him. She just brimmed and overflowed with happiness.

Fenris didn’t know what to feel, now. He’d spent so many years despising Anders, believing his own opinion. He had trouble reconciling the man he’d thought he known, with the man he now knew him to be when outside of Justice’s influence.

When Dagna returned, she had a series of small lyrium rune stones, threaded onto cords. These were tied around Hawke’s neck, wrists, ankles and waist. Enchanter Florence and Dagna were certain that the runes would alter Hawke’s mana production. Fenris prayed to himself that it would work.

After dinner--which Hawke didn’t want to eat--she wanted to sleep. Fenris slipped into the bed beside her and pulled her to him. 

“I’m just so tired, love,” she said.

“I know. Just rest awhile.”

“I love you, Fenris,” she breathed.

“I love you, Hawke. Now, sleep. I have you.”

She didn’t wake, again.

Fenris felt himself losing his mind. She was breathing, her heart beat slowly under his palm, but she wouldn’t wake. 

“Do something!” he pleaded. His voice was a desperate whisper. “I can’t lose her... I can’t... don’t let her die.”

Enchanter Florence, and Dagna, were at a loss. The runestones should have worked. All the data said so. They had done all they could do. There was nothing left to try. Hawke was dying.

Fenris curled around her still form on the bed, rocking her, whispering to her, stroking her hair. He’d never been so terrified in his life. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t real. How could he lose the one person he couldn’t bear to be without? His heart slowly splintered.

As the hours wore on, Hawke’s breathing slowed, her heartbeat grew faint. Fenris peppered her face with kisses, whispering urgently. “Hawke... Hawke... don’t go... come back to me....” 

This woman had done amazing things. She was a hero. She had defied death hundreds of times. She. Could. Not. Die.

As Fenris held her in his arms, watching in disbelief, Hawke drew a final shallow breath. 

And, then, no more.

His heart shattered. 

“NO!” He squeezed her to him, as if to force his own life into her body. “No-no-no-no-no-no-no! Oh, Maker, no,” he begged. 

Fenris couldn’t believe she was gone. She looked as though she were sleeping. He couldn’t stop petting her, stroking her hair, her face. He was sure she’d suddenly breathe again, open her eyes, smile at him. 

She didn’t. 

Fenris felt unbearable pain trying to rear itself in his fractured heart. He sucked in deep, shuddering breaths. He would not feel it. He could not bear if he felt it. He could not grieve for Hawke. If he did, it would be real. She would truly be gone.

He felt an irresistible need to run... run from the pain, run from the loss, run from the truth. He gazed at her one last time. He pressed a kiss to her lips, and gently lowered his forehead to hers. “I will always love you.”

He stood suddenly. He had to get out. Now. The pain was trying to break through his walls. He grabbed both of their bags, hurriedly stuffed the few loose items around the room into them, and made for the door.

He ran through the corridors, down the stairs and out of the Hold. The cold wind from the lake assailed him, but he couldn’t feel it. He stood alone on the rocks of the beach, waiting for the boat to ferry him across, and felt nothing. The pain--the excruciating, mind-rending, heart-sundering pain--that tried to fill him, was shoved deep within. It couldn’t hurt him, locked away. He couldn’t let it out. If he felt it, he would detonate in an explosion to put Justice’s to shame. 

He would leave. He didn’t care where he went. He didn’t care if he died. But, he couldn’t think about... her.

\--------------------------

Two months on the road. Maybe three. He didn’t keep track. He didn’t care. He followed the road in front of him. It didn’t matter where he went. He had no plan. He had nothing to hope for. He put one foot in front of the other, moving through the Ferelden countryside. He didn’t need to earn coin, he had plenty. He travelled until exhausted, slept where he found shelter, travelled again.

He tried not to think. Moving helped. He fell into the cadence of motion. Step. Step. Step. Step. It was hypnotic. It took away the urge to think. Thinking could turn his thoughts to... her. If he thought of... her, the pain would try to break free. 

When he had to think, he thought of his days as a slave. The anger, the loneliness, the bitterness. That’s what he needed to keep focused. Focused on... nothing.

He also thought of Anders. He didn’t mean to. Anders was too close to... her. He didn’t know why the mage invaded the emptiness in his mind. But, he did. Not the Anders he, himself, had known. The Anders he had seen in the Memory Rune. He saw the man smiling. Saw him caring. Saw him free. 

But, Anders was dead. It didn’t matter how he saw him. Nothing mattered. No one mattered. Anyone who had mattered was dead. He wished he was dead, too. He should have died instead of... her. 

No... no... he would not think of... her. 

He would not think.

\-----------------------------------------

He was on the outskirts of Redcliffe, according to the road sign. The Hinterlands looked prosperous, a decade after the Blight. Still, there was no shortage of abandoned cottages and farmhouses. He picked a likely one, and prepared for a night in it.

He’d been aware of a traveler following him. It was hard to tell, on a well-used road. Many people travelled in the same direction, for long distances. This one never overtook him. Not when he stopped, or deliberately dallied. As though keeping pace. For several days, he had caught glimpses of the man. Dark, ragged clothes. Walking with a slight stagger, as though tired or ill. He wasn’t worried about thieves or highwaymen. Those he could handle. Several had already fallen to his blade or fist since he began traveling. 

He didn’t particularly care if he was killed in a fight, or by a bear, or by illness from the elements. Death would be welcome. He also couldn’t simply sit down and die. It went against his nature. Once, he would have said it was a sin against the Maker. He no longer give a fig for the Maker, or what He might consider a sin.

After making sure the windows were shuttered, and drawing water from the well, he locked himself inside. He had lit a fire, and was setting a pot to boil, when he heard a knock on the door. A knock. That was not expected. Particularly if the knocker had hopes of thievery or murder. 

Fenris peered through a small crack in the door. His heart jumped, and his lyrium lines flared with shock. Then, fury filled him. He ripped open the door, grabbed the figure by the throat and yanked him inside. He shoved him against the wall, holding his throat in a strangling grip. Yes... it was him. It.    
“Justice,” he growled.

The face before him showed shock, surprise, fear. No matter who it might appear to be, Fenris knew better. 

“Demon! You took the mage’s body after he died. I should have suspected, when we could not find Anders for cremation. You drove him to terrorism. You brought about his death. And, you repaid his hospitality by turning his corpse into a ghoul!”

The thing held up its hands, “NO! It’s me--!” Its voice cut off in a high squeak as Fenris drove his phased fist into his chest and prepared to destroy the demon’s stolen home.

“This heart may no longer beat, but I will sunder this body useless to you! This will pay the debt of my misjudgment,” Fenris hissed. 

The elf paused, confused. He looked at the face before him, carefully. “You are not dead. Your heart yet beats.”

Tight with pain, the voice replied. “I’m not Justice! Please-- Andraste’s knickers--take your hand out of my chest!”

Fenris slowly removed his hand, and cautiously released the man. “You cannot be Anders. I saw him die. Unless, that demon somehow saved you....”

Holding his hand over his heart and wheezing, he replied. “I am Anders. Only Anders. Justice is gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't easy to lose Hawke.
> 
> to be continued....


	5. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris meets a fellow traveler.

Anders rubbed the spot on his chest where Fenris’ fist had impaled him. He’d spent nearly a month tracking him down. Somehow it was fitting that when he finally found him, the prickly bastard would shove his fist in his chest. Not that he was surprised.

The bastard in question was staring at him like... well, like he was seeing a ghost. Which was apropos, he supposed. He had been a dead man, after all.

Fenris found his voice. “How can this be?”

Anders sighed. “Mind if I sit? It’s been a long day.”

Fenris stepped back and motioned to the room at large. 

Anders sat on the chair near the fire, and shrugged off his pack. There was little in it, but it was all he had. Fenris stood near the hearth, waiting for him to speak.

“Where to begin?” he wondered aloud.

Anders had followed Fenris for days, debating whether to contact him. The only reason he could imagine the elf was in the country was to find the mage. To bring him back for a trial; or, simply kill him on sight. Anders finally decided to leave it in the Maker’s hands. The mage had a question to ask, that hopefully Fenris could answer. If he died in the process, so be it. He needed to know.

“Begin with Sebastian putting an arrow through your heart.”

“Sebastian did that? Sonofabitch. Well, I didn’t quite make it to dead. Or, maybe I did. I can’t say for sure. I just know that, whatever I was... I suddenly wasn’t. Justice gave up his lifeforce, to save me. He saved my life, at the cost of his own.”

“Good."

“I’m sure you’re thrilled.” He wasn’t entirely sure what the elf meant by that. He rubbed his chest, again. “By the way, that fist-thing you do? It really, bloody hurts.”

“You’re the first to complain.”

“I’m guessing I’m the first to live.”

Fenris shrugged.

“Anyway, when I came-to, I was alone. I had no idea what was happening, or what I had done. I saw the smoke, heard sounds of fighting. I ended up on the Docks. Ships were filling with people fleeing the destruction and fighting. I fled with them, not understanding what I was running from, or where I was going. I wound up on a boat to Ferelden.”

“Do you remember, now?” Anders was surprised by the lack of venom in the elf’s voice. No sneer, no judgement, simply a question.

“Over the next few days, my mind cleared.” His voice dropped. “I know what I did.” 

Fenris nodded, calm. Anders couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something... off... about the elf. Once his angry attack on Justice had ceased, he had lost all emotion. 

“Why are you in Ferelden?” The mage asked.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“You’re not... following me? To bring me in?”

“No.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Nothing.”

Fenris had never been chatty, but he seemed particularly laconic, now.

“Came all the way to Ferelden, alone, to do nothing?”

“No.”

Anders had to ask the question. The one he feared he knew the answer to, but Maker-help-him, he had to know.

He steeled himself, a familiar lump forming in his throat before he even got the words out. “Fenris... how is Hawke?”

Fenris jolted as though struck, his face draining of color. He turned on his heel and walked across the cottage. He stood with the heels of his hands pressed against his temples. After a moment, he spoke. 

“I’ll get firewood.” And, he walked out the door.

Anders was now almost certain Hawke had met her end, and it grieved him, terribly. Had it been her mana disorder? Had it been the battle that followed the explosion? It was important to him that she not have died from events he had set in motion. 

What was wrong with Fenris? Why was he here? Why wouldn’t he speak of Hawke? What had he meant, that he would pay a debt by killing Justice?

The elf banged through the door, and dropped an armload of wood near the fire. As he turned away, Anders tried again.

“Fenris, if you know what’s happened to Hawke, please tell me.”

The elf visibly tensed. “Leave it.”

“Please... I need to know.” The mage’s voice was rough with emotion.

Fenris stalked out the door, again, slamming it shut.

Anders stood and followed.

He found the damned elf pacing in front of the cottage, heels of his hands pressed to his temples, again.

“Fenris....” The elf wheeled around.

“Stop making me think!” His shout was desperate. And, made no sense to Anders.

“So, don’t think! Just tell me! Hawke was my closest friend, Fenris. I know she was ill. If she’s died--” his voice broke.

Fenris covered his ears. “Stop!” 

Anders looked on in confusion. Whatever was wrong with the elf, he wasn’t going to tell Anders what he needed to know. “Look... I’ll just go.”

As he turned to get his pack from the cottage, his arm was caught by a painful grip. He looked into Fenris’ panicked face.

“No! You can’t leave.”

“Damn it, Elf, what is going on with you?” 

Fenris had hold of his sleeve, and began leading him back to the cottage. “You need to stay.” He pulled the mage through the door, and latched it behind them.

“Fenris, I don’t know what your problem is, but you’re not making sense. All I want to know is--”

“STOP IT!” 

Anders tore away from the elf, certain the fist would be completing its earlier task. Instead, he saw Fenris in the midst of a complete disintegration. He was swaying on his feet, fists pressed to his temples. His face contorted with agony, breathing in shallow, rapid breaths. As Anders watched in confusion, Fenris began a soft chant that slowly gained volume.

“No... no...no... no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no....”

Anders knew a crisis when he saw one. He approached the elf, and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Fenris?” 

The elf looked at the mage. Anders had never seen such eloquent pain as that in the elf’s green eyes. Even as Fenris shook his head in denial, small sobs escaped his throat. Finally, his head fell back as he loosed a long, tortured wail. He simply, suddenly, collapsed. Anders caught him, and lowered them both the floor. 

“I’ve got you,” he said. 

Fenris clenched his hands in the folds of Anders’ coat. As his lungs emptied from his wail, he drew a harsh breath, and howled. 

“Hawke... no, no... Hawke... Maker, no....” 

So, Anders knew. Hawke was gone. The mage was stunned by the force of Fenris’ sorrow. His release was less sobbing than it was howls of pain. Anders did the only thing he could do; he wrapped his arms around the tortured man as he vented his grief. Anders wept with him. That he’d already suspected their friend was gone, did nothing to lessen the pain. 

Slowly, the storm passed. Fenris sat crumpled against Anders, face buried against his chest, hands still grasping the folds of his coat . He neither moved, nor objected to Anders’ embrace. The mage glanced down at him, at last. His eyes were swollen and red, his face blotchy from weeping. He breath still shuddered, but had slowed. 

Anders felt raw. His eyes burned and his throat hurt. He spoke softly into the white hair. “Better?”

Fenris’ reply was slow to come. When it did, his voice was faint and hollow. “I shall never be better.”

Anders sighed, feeling his heart constrict. 

“I understand.”

\-------------------

There was a tenderness in the cottage. As though the very atmosphere was bruised, and a loud voice or sharp movement would cause undue pain.

As Fenris pulled his shattered pieces back into a semblance of himself, he remained quiet. Anders guided him to the chair in front of the hearth. He left him to sit as he moved about the cottage; preparing tea, shaking out the bedding on the cot, feeding the fire.

When Anders pulled a stool to sit next to the elf’s chair, the green eyes met his.

“Anders.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For grieving?”

“For never trying to understand you beyond that demon.” 

The mage was dumbstruck.

“Um. Thank you. What changed your mind?”

Fenris’ face screwed up, and tears began, again. “Her.”

Anders squeezed the elf’s shoulder. When Fenris calmed, again, the mage tried a question.

“Fenris, how long ago?”

He shrugged. “Few months.”

“Was it in the battle?”

“No. Her mana.” He shook with tears, again. 

Anders put his head in his hands, and wept with the elf. 

He had hoped, hoped beyond reason, that somehow a solution had been found. He knew there was nothing he could do to help her, with Justice gone. He’d just clung to hope, certain there was none.

They spent the late hours in quiet conversation, and quiet contemplation. There were many tears. One or the other would give in to the sorrow, and weep while the other laid a hand on a shoulder or back. Just a connection, to confirm that they were not alone in their pain.

Fenris spoke of what had transpired since that fateful night in the Gallows. The battle, Meredith, the continuing chaos. 

Anders was appalled. He had wanted to usher in change, not terror. At the time, his plan had made perfect sense. Now, he wasn’t sure that he hadn’t made it worse. Time would tell. 

Fenris told of their journey to Kinloch Hold. It was a halting tale. He lost himself in tears, many times. Anders gently prompted him, and gave him time to gather his words. 

“She missed you,” the elf said. “She loved you. She wanted nothing more than to redeem you. She wanted me to see the good in you. I finally did.”

“That was the misjudgment you would pay for, in killing Justice.” 

“I owed you that.”

“You recall that I destroyed the Kirkwall Chantry, right?”

“I recall that was Justice’s doing. If not for that demon, you would not have done it. You’re a healer, not a killer.”

“I appreciate your faith, however much it surprises me.”

“You always had her faith. Through it all. Until the end. Oh, Maker....” he began to weep. 

“Fenris... have you not grieved, until now?”

The elf shook his head. 

“Maker’s breath. That was months ago. What have you been doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Well... where were you traveling?”

“Nowhere.” The elf frowned. “What have you been doing?”

So, Anders told him of his own travels. Of being crammed onto an overloaded boat, a stowaway in plain view. When he’d boarded, he’d simply slipped past the distracted crew. He’d hidden in the bowels of the boat to avoid a group of rogue templars that had also fled Kirkwall. Lying in a nest among the cargo, his memory came back to him in bits and pieces. 

Until, finally, he realized what he’d done. Realized how much death and pain he’d caused. Without Justice, he no longer felt the righteous vindication that he’d had before. He mourned his actions. He’d regretted living. He’d spent most of the voyage weeping, railing, vowing atonement. 

Reaching Ferelden, he’d tried to go back. He’d felt compelled to return to the city he’d destroyed. He should pay for his crime. But, it was a much more onerous a task to go back than it had been to leave. Any ships braving the civil disorder there were charging exorbitant prices. He’d left Kirkwall with the clothes on his back, and little coin. 

He knew he could simply turn himself in to the nearest authority. He could pay the price, right here. But... he was afraid. Plain and simple, he was afraid to meet the penalty he knew would be leveled. He’d be killed outright, or worse, be made Tranquil. 

When he confessed his cowardice to Fenris, Fenris disagreed. “You are no coward. I have seen you face all manner of evil and monsters. It is natural to want to live.”

Anders shook his head in wonder, yet again, at the words coming from the elf.

“So... I decided to atone with good works. I’ve just been traveling, trying to make a difference where I can. Healing, helping. Avoiding templars and militia. It wasn’t easy. Mages are feared, more now, than before. 

“Then, I overheard some travelers mention a tattooed elf with armor and a greatsword. I mean... how many like you can there be? I followed the direction they’d said you’d gone, and kept watch for signs or rumors. 

“I had no idea how you’d respond, when I caught up to you. Well, I guessed I’d end up with your fist in my chest--which I did-- but hoped I might be able to learn of Hawke, first.”

Fenris nodded. They resumed quiet contemplation of the dying fire. 

“Why didn’t you want me to leave, tonight?” Anders asked.

Fenris was slow to answer. “You were important to her. She would not have let you wander alone, in danger.”

“Oh.” 

“Do you miss the demon?”

“Look, he’s gone now. Could you call him a spirit, at least?”

“Do you miss it?”

“In a way. He was a huge part of me, for a long time. He gave his life for me.”

“I would have gladly given my life, for her,” the elf said, tears falling.

Anders nodded. "I understand."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe Anders' attitude about the bombing would be very different without Justice in him.
> 
> to be continued....


	6. Planning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Anders reacquaint.
> 
> Anders makes a plan.

As dawn broke through the shuttered windows, Fenris spoke. “There’s a rabbit in my pack, if you care for breakfast.”

Anders was on his feet, rifling through Fenris’ pack. “I’m bloody well starving,” he said. “I haven’t eaten in nearly two days.” He pulled the rabbit, already gutted and skinned, out of the pack. He set about spitting it over the coals. 

“How have you lived, these past months?” Fenris asked

“Not well, I’m afraid. Sometimes the odd-job, or scrounging in the refuse piles. I made coin a few times, selling myself to passing soldiers. I try--” he was cut off by Fenris’ interjection.

“You what?”

“What? Oh, selling myself. Right. I learned to ply that trade when I was running from the Circle, in my youth. I seem to have a quality some men like. I’m a bit old for it, now, but some of the brutish types like a slender sort, like me, even so.”

Anders’ voice died away when he saw the expression on Fenris’ face. 

“Brutish types?” the elf repeated, with dismay.

Anders felt his defenses rise. “Not everyone has a skill they can pander, Elf. If I try to heal for coin, I’m snapped up by Templars, in a heartbeat. The Chantry gives out charity for the poor, but guess what’s crawling all over every Chantry? Templars! You have a better idea for a mage on the run, I’m all ears.”

Fenris shook his head. “I’m not judging you, Mage. But, those kind of men... they hurt you, did they not? They used you without thought for your pain, and....” He sighed. “It’s none of my business.”

Anders’ voice held surprise and a little confusion. “I’m grateful for your concern, don’t get me wrong. But, how is it you give a fig for my well-being?”

Fenris’ eyes held his, the green depths unfathomable. He turned his gaze to the coals, spattering now with drippings from the rabbit. “I can no longer claim understanding of my own inner workings, Anders. I have been shattered, and my pieces no longer fit.”

As the sun rose, the men both felt the drain of a long, emotional night. Anders took his coat off in the heat from the hearth. Fenris declined any breakfast. As the mage tore into the rabbit, he could feel Fenris’ eyes on him. He had dropped a great deal of weight, and his tunic and trousers hung loosely. He guessed that was why Fenris eventually insisted the mage take the cot. He’d like to have refused, but hunger and hard travel made sleeping on the thin mattress seem like luxury. Fenris used a pack for a pillow and stretched in front of the hearth.

Waking later, to the sound of soft weeping, Anders looked over his shoulder at the figure on the floor. Fenris’ shoulders shook gently, obviously trying to keep his grief quiet. Anders turned back, letting Fenris keep his privacy.

He lay on the cot, and considered his future, as it were. He didn’t know how much longer he could continue on this particular path. It was harder, now, to be on the lam. In his youth, it had been different. Mages weren’t as frightening to many people, then. His young age and humor had made him seem harmless. He easily charmed his way into other travelers’ company, and gained a share of food. Brothels were happy for a new face to pull-in coin for a night or two, and the customers were safer than those he could pick-up on the road.

Now, he’d started at a deficit, and had only gone downhill since. People were terrified of blood mages. The few he’d been able to heal were in dire straights, and desperate. Strangers were viewed with suspicion. And, Fenris was right about the men he’d served. It wasn’t the exciting game it used to be. They had hurt him. And although he was able to heal himself, it was a downward spiral. Their kind of use injured him. His hunger weakened him. Healing himself drained his mana. Neither his mana nor his health could recover sufficiently while both were so low. Which, left him vulnerable to attack on the road, when his defenses were compromised.

There was nowhere he could turn without expectation of reprisal for the Chantry bombing. He had no idea how the Grey Wardens would feel about him. He’d left them under bad circumstances. True, when he’d come across them, later, they made no moves against him. Could he bear to serve with them, again? No. He couldn’t. As it stood, he could die on the road, or die in a hangman’s noose. 

Although... Orzammar would have no interest in any of the situation. They were isolated from surface politics. Even if they had heard of the bombing, they wouldn’t care--they had no love for the Chantry. If he was willing to play his dubious Grey Warden-card, he would be welcomed, even into the palace. 

All things considered, Orzammar was his best bet. Once there, he’d be safe for a while. He could make plans. 

He just needed to get there alive.

\-----------

By afternoon, they were up and eating the remains of the roast rabbit. Fenris pulled some dried fruit out of his pack to share between them. The elf was quiet. He looked as though he’d barely slept. At least the eery, emotionless quality that had been present yesterday was gone. 

“Are you moving on, today?” Anders asked.

“I have no schedule. You?”

“I want to talk to you about that, actually,” Anders began. “I don’t think I can survive as I have been for much longer. I’m weak, my magic is depleted. I have nowhere to turn.”

Fenris nodded. 

“I’m thinking I’ll go to Orzammar. I’ll be safe from the Chantry and Circle, there. It’s a long hike, though. I’m not exactly in top condition.” Anders looked down at the dried fruit in his hands. “I wondered if you might be willing to... accompany me... for a while?” He knew it was a long-shot, but he was really hanging out there for this. He was desperate.

“Yes.”

Anders head shot up, staring at the elf in disbelief. “You will? To Orzammar?”

Fenris shrugged. “There is no different than anywhere else. I can at least keep you safe, even....” The mage could almost hear the unspoken, ‘even if I couldn’t save Hawke’.

Anders nodded. His insides felt light, the wool in his head cleared. For the first time in months... no, a decade... he felt secure in his future. “Fenris... I can’t thank you enough. I don’t know why you’re willing, but I’m not going to question it. Thank you.”

Fenris cocked his head and handed a piece of his dried fruit to Anders.

“What’s this?”

“I give a fig, Anders.” 

The mage groaned. “Oh, Maker. I’m so damned relieved, I’m not even going to say how bad that was.” In truth, Anders was pleased Fenris was able to make a joke. Even a bad one.

“You just said how bad it was, Mage.”

“Well. It needed saying.”

\-----------------------

Cleaning up after breakfast--lunch--whatever, Anders marveled at... everything. He had a plan, and a good one. He’d found Fenris, who turned out to be an ally, for the first time in their long association. And, strangest of all, Fenris was... different. He was still dark, grief held his soul on a tight grip. But, he was accepting of Anders. Forgiving of Anders. Hell, he had asked forgiveness from Anders. 

He was certain that, if he were able, he could trace it all back to Hawke. If any person on the planet could bring Anders and Fenris together in friendship, it was her. That’s just how she was. 

Thinking of Fenris made him hurt inside. The elf was suffering her loss acutely. After their discussion late into the night, Fenris hadn’t mentioned her, again. He tried to control his tears around the mage. Anders understood. The elf was a private person. He tried to respect that, and give Fenris space for his emotions.

Anders was not as able to keep his feelings private. Between losing Justice, and Hawke, he felt that his emotions were riding roughshod over him. The spirit had lent him a level of self control. Now, it was gone. Thinking of Hawke brought tears. She had been his only friend. And, what a friend she had been. She just had a way of making you feel good. Good about yourself. Understood. Important. He supposed that was how Fenris had felt, as well. The elf had even less of those things in his life than the mage had. Getting them... well, it changed a man.

He thought he should still be mourning the loss of Justice, but he didn’t. Being free of him, having free reign of his own mind... in retrospect he could see how overwhelmed he had been. He didn’t entirely like the man he’d become under Justice’s tenancy. 

He started to pack his bag, again, ready to travel. Fenris came through the door with an armload of wood. “Unpack that bag and get comfortable, Mage,” he growled.

“Uh... OK. Why?”

Fenris dropped the wood next to the fireplace. “You are a good two stone underweight, your magic is depleted, and your bag holds only tree bark and a water skin.”

“It’s medicinal bark,” he said in defense. 

“We will stay here for a while. Feed you up, get some supplies. We both could use rest. And... time. I have no desire to break-out in a sobbing fit in the middle of a crime-ridden trail.”

“There’s no shame in grief, Fenris.”

“Perhaps not. But there is also no safety in it on a mountain passage.”

“You won’t get over it in just ‘a while’.”

“This ‘while’ will last as long as needed. I have no illusions, Anders. I will grieve for the rest of my life. There is no getting over--” a small hiccup of a sob suddenly escaped him. “--her.” 

“Yeah. I know.”

\---------------------

Over the next couple of days, they prepared their temporary home for longer use. They stacked wood by the door, and scrubbed the well-bucket. The tables and chairs needed the thick dust brushed-off, but what little was in the cottage was in fair repair. Anders aired-out the bedding on the cot, while Fenris took his sword into a nearby field and cut down armloads of dry hay to fill the mattress tick. 

Fenris shoved the hay into the ticking and stirred it up. “We can use the cot in turns.”

“It’s wide enough for two. I don’t mind sharing if you don’t. As long as you take off that prickly armor, first.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “Fair enough. If you snore, I’m kicking you to the floor.”

Both men were proficient at setting small-game traps. However, Fenris won Anders’ undying admiration by hunting a ram with a great sword. He simply waited on a large boulder with his sword drawn, until an animal happened past. Then, he dropped on it with his blade. There was some bickering about who would dress the thing. Fenris maintained that since he’d hunted it, Anders should dress it. Anders maintained that it was icky. Eventually, they both participated in the chore. A haunch roasted in the cottage fireplace.

The small garden next to the cottage had been untended for several seasons, but still had potatoes and greens among the weeds. Anders found elfroot, embrium and tea herbs in the surrounding fields and woods. If they were going to squat in an abandoned hut, they’d picked a good one.

Anders was pleased for the activities, for both their sakes. It was simple, physical work. It was distracting. It gave them something on which to focus.

\-------------------

Anders washed his clothes in the washtub. He’d stripped down to his small clothes in order to wash his filthy, ragged trousers, tunic and socks. He could feel the elf’s eyes cataloguing his condition. Bruises and abrasions stood out clearly, his ribs more so. Fenris turned away, rustling through his belongings.

“Mage,” he said, holding a bundle out to him. It was a clean set of clothing, complete with smalls. “We will make a trip to a market at some point. You need clothing until then.”

Anders took the proffered bundle, surprised and touched. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

After washing his old clothes, Anders refilled the tub in order to bathe. After he rinsed the soap Fenris had given him out of his hair, he looked about him.

“Do you have a towel?” 

Fenris dug into his pack, again, and pulled one out. A small object fell out onto the bed. The elf picked it up, tossing the towel to the mage. 

Fenris sat, toying with the small object. “What’s that?” Anders asked.

Fenris motioned him over. Anders dressed in the slightly short clothes, and sat next to him on their cot to pull on his boots. 

Fenris showed him the stone. Brown, about the size of a thumb, it had a lyrium rune etched into it.

“That looks like a Shaperate Memory Rune,” Anders said.

“You’ve seen them?”

“A few. Grey Wardens are in and out of Orzammar. What’s this one?”

“When we were at the Circle... she had one made. This is how I came to know that you were not always as I had believed. These are her memories of you. The you she wanted me to see.” 

He held the runestone to the mage. “You should have it,” he said, roughly. He was blinking against the build-up of tears Anders could see in his eyes. The mage took it, and held it on his open palm.

“How do I....?”

“Stroke your finger over the rune.”

He did. He was immediately transported back in time. He saw himself, in so many situations, all from Hawke’s point-of-view. He wanted to laugh, to cry, to tell himself so many things. He was surprised by how many memories she’d had of him. Memories of him, at his best, he noticed. 

When the memories stopped, he was still sitting on the cot next to Fenris. The runestone lay in his palm, his tears falling onto it. “She always saw the best in me.” 

“I know.”

He bowed his head and let the tears flow. He felt Fenris’ arm come around his shoulders. The elf’s simple act of compassion made him weep all the harder. 

Fenris rubbed his back. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

\--------------------

“You’re sure you want to give this runestone away?” They were eating the best meal either had had in months. Roast, potatoes, greens, tea. Fenris’ appetite was a bit scant, but Anders was making up for it. 

“Yes. It served its purpose. It should be yours.”

“Some of those memories, I could do without; taking an arrow, losing a young patient. But, some... I’d forgotten how much we laughed. Teaching her a Nevarran carola on the foothills of Sundermount. I think I cracked a rib from laughing.”

“That was a dance you were doing?”

“Yes. What else would it be?”

“I thought you’d stepped on a hornets’ nest.”

“Everybody’s a critic.”

“You’re just a bad dancer.”

“I dance better when I’m drunk.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Justice didn’t let me get drunk. In retrospect, he could really be a stick in the mud. He wasn’t like that, on his own. He was serious, sure, but he wasn’t so....”

“Overwhelming?”

“Right.”

“What did you imagine it would be like?”

“I thought he’d still be him... separate from me. Just, I don’t know... along for the ride.”

“And, that sort of invasion of your privacy appealed to you?”

“I wanted to help. He was living in a rotting corpse. And, what’s a little inconvenience compared to helping free an oppressed people?”

“Mage. I am not willing to sit through a lecture.”

“I’m not giving one. I’m just telling you why I did what I did.”

Fenris grunted. “I will never willingly allow someone that much control of my life. I’ve been there, before. Never again.”

“Are you saying that I was a slave to Justice?”

“Weren’t you? You would not have destroyed the Chantry without his influence. I would not have murdered an entire village if not ordered by Danarius. Tell me where the difference is.”

Anders thought. “I would never say Justice enslaved me. That would be against everything he was. But, I guess I can see your point.”

Fenris furrowed his brow. “I expected more argument.”

Anders shrugged. “I did, too.”

Fenris studied his tea for a while. “I like you better with the spirit gone.”

“I understand. I like me better, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Orzammar.
> 
> to be continued....


	7. Nesting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Anders learn more about each other.
> 
> A trip to the Crossroads brings adventure.

Sharing the bed was easier than Anders had expected. For one, Fenris, indeed, took off his prickly armor. Minus his spiky pauldrons, bracers and gauntlets, he seemed... gentler. He seemed no less deadly--his bearing and grace still belied the warrior’s strength. 

For another thing, the elf was barely in the bed. Once settled, Anders had sunk into sleep quickly. The full meal in his belly, the warm room, the soft bed; it was a perfect recipe for slumber. Not so much for Fenris.

As on the first night, Anders awoke to the sound of weeping. He saw Fenris’ shadow in the chair before the hearth, shoulders shaking as he cried softly. Twice after that, Anders woke and saw the elf elsewhere in the cottage. Sitting at the table, staring blankly at an open book before him. Then, in front of the hearth again, slowly running a whetstone along his blade. 

By morning, he was back beside the mage, brows furrowed even in sleep. Anders was ready to get up, but was reluctant to disturb the elf’s hard-won rest. He simply lay and studied the man next to him.

Now that his armor was off, Anders saw that Fenris had lost weight, as well. He wasn’t surprised. The warrior wasn’t eating as he should. Anders had eaten twice the amount Fenris had just since joining him in the cottage. There were shadows around his eyes, creating haunted depths that amplified his large, green eyes. He wasn’t sleeping well, and probably hadn’t for months. Anders knew all the symptoms of grief. He was a healer, after all, and had felt it more than once, himself.

If Hawke had come to mean as much to Fenris as she had to Anders, he understood. Thinking of the amazing woman they had both called friend, the mage felt his eyes overflow. Maker, he missed her. 

He tried to cry quietly, control the quaking of his chest, so as not to disturb the man next to him. Fenris shifted slightly. Then, Anders felt a hand squeeze his wrist, and rest there. Simple contact. A terrible, shared pain; a balm for the heart.

\-----------------

“Why did you run from the Circle, so many times?”

“Because they kept catching me.”

Anders was kneeling in the tall meadow grass. He’d been gathering herbs and roots and all manner of potion supplies, for days. On hands and knees, he searched for herbs that grew near the grass roots. Fenris accompanied him on these searches. It was hard enough to find the herbs, let alone keep watch for bears, hyenas and bandits. The elf paced lazily through the grass, sometimes going through sword maneuvers, sometimes staring quietly into the distance.

“Do you never answer a question seriously?”

“That is a serious answer. I ran until I never went back.”

“Was it so terrible, for you?”

“I’m sure it could have been worse. The Gallows was a nightmare.”

“What made you run?”

“I didn’t want to be there.”

“Why won’t you answer?”

“I’ve answered each question you’ve posed, Fenris. What answer are you hoping to hear?”

“I was there. It was peaceful. The mages did their work. The Templars did theirs. It was like being in a Chantry, or a library.”

“For you. You knew you could leave anytime you wanted. How would you have liked to stay there, forever? Never be let out without a full guard of Templars, just waiting for you to make a misstep?”

Fenris thought about that for a while. Anders continued his search for tiny, yellow flowers.

“I wouldn’t like to be told I couldn’t go where I wanted.”

“There you go.”

“But, I’m not at risk for blood magic or demon possession.”

“Neither is every mage.”

“You were possessed.”

“Not by a demon.”

“That’s what you say.”

“You succumbed to a demon when you went into the Fade to find Feynriel.”

Fenris glared at the mage. “That’s not the same.”

“It’s exactly the same. Yet, you’re not being locked up because it ‘might happen’.”

“Mages are dangerous.”

“Are you afraid of me, Fenris?”

The elf snorted. “Hardly.”

“Yet, you think I should be locked in the Circle.”

Fenris thought about that, for a while. 

“No. I don’t want you to be locked up in a Circle.”

“Where is this conversation going?”

“I want to understand.”

“Easy enough. Understand that I want the same things you want, Fenris. I want to be free. I want to travel where the road, or my whim, takes me. I want enough food, a warm bed, and pleasant company.”

“All I want is to have Hawke back,” came the elf’s quiet reply. 

Anders stood. Fenris’ back was to him, as he gazed into the horizon. Coming abreast of the elf, the mage saw tears tracking down his cheeks. Anders rested a hand on Fenris’ shoulder.

“I know. I do too.”

“Everything reminds me of her, Mage. Things that have no reason to bring her to mind, do. I think of her when I wake, I dream of her when I sleep. She’s on my mind no matter what I’m doing. I can’t stop thinking of her.” Fenris turned to face the mage.

“I want to stop thinking of her, so it stops hurting. And, yet, I’m afraid I will stop. Does this never end?” 

Anders wiped at the tears that had spilled over his own cheeks as the elf spoke. He nodded. 

“Yes. It does. It will get better. Easier. You’ll always miss her. But, one day, it won’t hurt so much. One day, you’ll think of her a little less. You’ll never forget her, Fenris. But, instead of pain when you think of her, you’ll feel happiness.”

Fenris took a deep, shuddering breath. He turned back to the horizon. Anders walked back to the patch he had left, and began his search, again.

\-------------------------------

Anders sat cross legged in a patch of sun in front of the cottage. He had both hands full of reeds, turning and weaving the mass into a basket. His mind was wandering as he worked. Hawke repeatedly stole into his thoughts, threatening to draw him into tears. He was grateful when Fenris appeared, and sat down beside him.

“I didn’t know you could weave baskets.”

“My mother taught me, as a child. She was good with her hands.”

“Do you miss your mother?”

“Yes. We were close. I was her eldest child. We had a special connection. She didn’t want to turn me over to the Templars. My father insisted. He was afraid of me. Mutter convinced them to let me take her prayer pillow with me.”

“The embroidered pillow you tried to give Varric?”

“The same. She did beautiful needle work. Strictly speaking, it’s for kneeling upon, in prayer. I’d always slept on it. I remember when Hawke....” And, the tears flowed.

He dropped the reeds, and lowered his face into his hands.

He felt the elf’s hand on his back.

“I know, Mage. I know.”

\--------------------------

Anders was physically improved. A couple weeks’ worth of decent meals and proper sleep had done wonders for him. He thought the elf looked a little better, as well. Together, they’d made the little cottage comfortable. It didn’t have a lot to it. 

There was the bed, small table with two chairs, chair and stool before the fireplace. A kitchen, of sorts, for food storage and meal preparation. 

There was an outhouse loo on the other side of the small garden that grew next to the cottage. A rickety, falling down fence ran around the overgrown  
garden. A well out front. A woodpile. Between the two of them, they’d managed to clean and repair what little needed it. They’d made rough-hewn dishes to augment the two plates and utensils Fenris had. A variety of woven baskets held the food they’d hunted, dug and picked. 

Anders had taken over the tabletop. His gathered herbs, roots, and barks were strewn upon it. He wanted to start processing them, but had no tools or containers. He needed vials, knives, burners, pots. 

He also wanted to acquire a staff. A new travel pack to replace the one he’d found in a roadside ditch. A decent blanket to augment the one on the bed. The cot only had one, which was sufficient when Fenris was in the bed, adding his considerable body heat. When he was out, which was half the time, it was chilly. 

They were running low on lantern oil. A teapot would be easier for heating water than the well-bucket.

“Fenris, I think it’s time to head into a village.”

“I was thinking the same. I’d like to post a message to Varric. He should know about... he should know. And, maybe hear some news.”

They set off at dawn. Fenris attached a lock on the door, much sturdier than the latch that was already there. They were carrying most of their wealth with them, but they weren’t keen to lose their food to casual looters.

They headed for a town known as the Crossroads. It sat on the intersection of several major roads and smaller paths. Fenris thought they might be less conspicuous in a village with frequent travelers, and Anders agreed.

It would only take a few hours to get to the village. Anders was pleased with the difference that decent food, and decent sleep had made. He was also delighted to be traveling with the elf beside him. With the warrior at his side, he could relax a bit. After the loneliness and caution of the past few months, having a companion on the road was comforting. 

“Do you know where we are, exactly?” Fenris asked.

“The Hinterlands. South of Lake Calenhad. I ran this way, once. It’s beautiful here.”

The elf looked around, as though he’d never seen the countryside in his months on the road. Anders decided that he probably hadn’t. Fenris had been pretty locked inside himself. 

“It is nice.”

“Have you ever been this far south?”

“No. Danarius had no interest or holdings in Ferelden. I’ve been to north Orlais. Halamshiral.”

“Ooooo... did you meet the Empress?”

“Hardly. I was with Danarius when he had audience. I was well-cautioned not to look upon her.”

“Why?”

“I would pollute her with my gaze.”

The mage came to a stop, and looked at Fenris in disbelief.

“Mage, I think you have trouble understanding what being a slave means. I was the lowest of low, filthiest of filth.”

“That’s not damned true.”

“It was, at the time.”

“You believed that?”

Fenris began walking, again. “Yes. I knew no other truth.”

Anders swore inventively.

“Don’t take it so to heart, Mage. My life is different, now. It has been for some time.”

“I’ve been called the same. Low, filth. Also, monster, fiend, evil, demon, and abomination.”

“You were an abomination.”

“Will you never give up?”

“Whatever word you may call the thing that was in you, you did harbor a Fade creature. That is the definition of an abomination.”

“But, the word, Fenris. Something detested, abhorrent.”

“I detested the demon.”

“Justice was no demon.”

“After what it made you do, you still defend it?”

“After what he did for me, you still attack him? He gave his life to save mine, Fenris. Doesn’t that earn him a little respect?”

The elf glared at the road before him as they walked.

“I don’t understand why it did that.”

“He probably felt my death would be an injustice.”

“Why would it think that?”

“Search me. I think it would have been utterly justified.”

They fell silent for a while. The morning was clear. A perfect spring day. Anders tried to name the birds he heard singing. He’d known nearly every birdsong in the country, at one time. Years spent locked in the Circle had lost those memories. 

The elf broke the silence. “You don’t plan to take your own life, do you?”

“What? No. Why?”

“You believe you should have died. You hold much guilt for your actions.”

“I do, it’s true. But, no. I have no such plans.” The mage hesitated. “Do you?”

“No.”

“I’ve worried about it.”

“Have you?”

“Yes. Acute grief is no simple matter. You’re feeling it, deeply.”

“As are you.”

“Yes, but not like you are. If I’d hazard a guess, I’d say you’ve never lost anyone, before.”

“I have. But, I didn’t know that I had.”

“Right. And, you haven’t had many friends?”

“Hawke was my first and only friend.” Anders watched as the elf visibly strove to maintain his calm.

“Varric?”

“Is a fine companion. Sebastian, as well. But, they weren’t the same.”

“Sebastian put a fucking arrow through my heart.”

“He did. I was pretty close to taking you down, myself.”

Anders sighed. “I suppose it all came out just as well. I’d rather he’d put me down before I set off the explosion.”

“It’s statements like that, which make me worry for you.”

“You worry about me?” Anders grinned. The elf worried about him.

Fenris scowled. 

The Crossroads was bustling. There were a lot of templars. He was glad for the clothing Fenris had loaned him. In the woolen tunic and trousers, he looked like any other peasant on the move. 

Supplies were abundant. Fenris’ funds were apparently abundant, as well. The man never hesitated to hand over coin for the food, paraphernalia, clothing, whatever Anders thought they needed. When Anders murmured to him that he needed to find a magic staff, he grunted. “Try to get something understated... no mummified animals hanging off of it.”

The elf was less at ease in the small, dark hut that Anders suspected held mage supplies. Inconspicuous, ostensibly a weapons-supply merchant, Anders recognized the mage staves amongst the quarter staff display. As he examined the offerings, Fenris stood inside the doorway, eyes alert and flicking from customer to merchant to passerby. 

Anders knew that none of the staves were really up to his level of power, but he’d expected that. Even a weak staff would augment his magic to some degree. He found one that had the look of a true quarter staff; straight, unembellished, plain. Yet, the current of power flowing through it was decent. The merchant approached him. “You appear to appreciate this staff’s potential,” he offer discreetly. 

“I do. How does it come by this quality?”

The merchant gestured to the leather wrappings at various intervals along the staff. “There are lyrium runes under the wraps. If you examine the head, you’ll see that the core of the staff was hollowed-out, and and is filled with a volcanic aurum rod. A wood plug has been fitted to cap the bore hole. It’s simply a wooden staff... with a few hidden surprises.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Excellent. Would you be needing any supplements?”

Anders was pleasantly surprised. “You’ve got lyrium?”

“Not as pure as the Circle gets, but it’s sufficient.”

Fenris willingly purchased the staff and supply of lyrium, though frowning the entire time.

Outside, he relaxed his disapproving air. “Good choice in staff.”

They found a small pub, and stopped to eat and hear to the talk. Casual eavesdropping indicated that mages throughout the Free Marches were rebelling against the Circles. Apostates outnumbered the mages still in Circles, at this point. Many of them were attacking any templar, city guard or militia member they came across. 

More disturbing, Templars were rebelling against the Chantry, and packs of rogue Templars were administering their own style of vigilante control. Apostates as well as innocent civilians were being attacked throughout the Free Marches. 

Anders put his head in his hands, swearing under his breath. This was his doing. Justice’s doing. Whoever. His hands had created the device, his magic had detonated it. Sure, the mages were freeing themselves, but at what cost?

“Anders, this is not your fault.” He raised his head to look at the man across the small table. “We’ve discussed this. You’re a decent man. You, alone, would never have performed such a deed.”

“Your definition of decent is very loose,” he replied. 

“Perhaps. I also know a bad man when I see one. You're not it.”

They took their leave after their meal, wanting to return before nightfall. Along a barren stretch of road, Fenris suddenly stopped, eyes staring intently. “Ahead. Be ready,” he murmured.

Both men moved into position, Fenris in front, Anders several paces behind. Sure enough, four men in ragged armor appeared on the road ahead. They walked toward the pair with studied nonchalance.

“What have we here?” asked one.

“Looks like a knife ear and a peasant, out on a stroll,” said another.

“Got a couple heavy bags on ‘em,” said yet another.

As they got closer, their filth and smell was apparent. 

“Don’t kill ‘em right away. I want a go at that elf.”

Anders rolled his eyes. Seriously? Could they not see the giant sword strapped to that elf’s back?

Fenris slid his broadsword off of his back with an ominous, metallic ring. “And, so it begins.”

The fight wasn’t particularly difficult. It was strange fighting without Justice. The spirit had lent a level of focus and awareness during battle. Watching Fenris charge and swing sent a familiar surge of camaraderie through him, and he focused on that.

His new staff performed well. He felt slow, his mana level drained quickly, and he’d packed the lyrium in his backpack, out of reach. He strove to stay on top of the battle, relieved when there was but one brigand left, in tight melee with Fenris.

A sudden, hard blow to his head sent him to his knees, his staff skittering across the road. He heard laughter and felt himself being kicked to his front on the ground. His pack’s straps were sliced, and it was yanked off of him. A heavy boot kicked him onto his back, and he looked up into a swimming view of a filthy, laughing, bearded face. 

“So, the peasant’s got more to him than he looked. A tasty bit of mage-flesh, who’ll bring a bit of a bounty to boot!”

Head spinning, Anders struggled to get upright, and was shoved back down with a boot on his chest.

“Not so fast, pretty boy. Adolphus! Finish that elf, already.” He pulled some laces from his pocket, bending over to secure Anders’ wrists.

Suddenly, the hairy, filthy head exploded in a burst of blood and gore. Anders flinched as most of it cascaded over him. He had a brief glimpse of flashing lyrium as an arm yanked the dead body away, then the sound of brutal hacking filled Anders’ ears. He managed to roll himself on his front and raise his head. The brigands lay in pools of blood along the road. The one that had last drawn Fenris’ attention was currently being hacked into paste. 

Fenris’ face was a mask of rage. Lips drawn back in a snarl, battle cry roaring from his chest, the elf was in a frenzy. His blade rose and fell, again and again. The body lost its distinguishing shape, and turned into a pile of armor and bloody pulp.

Finally turning from the object of his anger, Fenris launched at the next nearest body, and repeated his exercise. His battle cry was replaced by wheezing grunts and short, cut-off expletives. Anders was able to get the lacing off of his wrists, and stagger on all fours to his pack. He pulled out a lyrium vial, and tossed it back.

“Ah, Maker, yes,” he gasped, as mana rushed through him. He cast a healing spell on himself, and instantly felt relief. He watched Fenris, now hacking at a third body, staggering as his arms tried to raise and drop his blade. Finally, he stumbled backward and fell onto his backside. He sat, panting heavily. Anders made his way to the elf.

“You done?”

Fenris glanced at him, breathing hard, and nodded. 

“You want some healing?”

The white head shook.

“You just let me know.”

While Fenris collected himself, Anders made temporary repairs to his pack. He took a handful of lyrium vials and stuck them in a belt-pouch. He wouldn’t commit that error, again.

Shortly, Fenris approached him. His blade was on his back, again. He looked winded, but recovered. Anders shouldered his pack, waiting for Fenris to make the call. 

“Healing would be welcome,” the elf said.

Anders healed him, and Fenris straightened his posture. “We should move on,” he said.

As they walked, Anders thought about Fenris’ fit of anger. Anger and grief went together. One of his Healing instructors had said, “Anger turned inward is depression; anger turned sideways is sarcasm.” For mages, anger turned outwards was simply not an option. It got you killed or made Tranquil. Fenris’ cathartic explosion looked like heaven, as far as Anders was concerned. 

“You know, that last one called the other one ‘Adolphus’,” he observed.

“And?”

“Just a memory. That was my father’s name.”

Fenris looked at him with interest. “Really?”

He nodded. “It’s a good, old, Anders name.”

“Anders is not your real name, as I recall.”

“True. They called me that because my family was from the Anderfels.”

“Why did you not correct them?”

“I wasn’t on speaking terms with anyone for a while. The templars who collected me said that I wouldn’t tell them my name, so they just used ‘Anders’. Thing was, my father did tell them my name. He had a thick accent, though, so I’m guessing the idiots didn’t hear him.”

“What is your real name?”

“I’ve never told anyone.”

“You know my real name.”

“I guess I do.” He leaned close, and whispered in the elf’s ear.

Fenris nodded. “That’s a good name.”

“I’m guessing the templars misheard it as ‘Anders’. Or, they were just stupid. I’m going with stupid.”

“Have you never met a templar you didn’t like?”

Anders laughed. “Not bloody often. Oh, there were a couple that weren’t horrible. But, they were few and far between.”

As they drew closer to their cottage, Anders suggested they stop at a shallow spring and wash the thick blood off of themselves. Fenris shrugged, and followed him to the water. He stood guard as Anders bathed quickly, and beat the dried gore out of his clothing. Fortunately, he had new clothes to put on. As he dried himself, he caught Fenris looking at him thoughtfully. His eyes seemed to catalogue his body from head to toe.

“Something catch your eye, sirrah?” he asked lightly.

“In a way. You are a handsome man, Anders.”

He felt himself blush, discomfited by the elf’s candor.

“Venhedis. I’m hardly attempting seduction, Mage. I’m understanding why you find it easy to pander to certain men. Why interest comes your way, even when you make no effort.”

Anders scoffed. “As I recall, it was you who drew the interest of that last group.” He pulled on his clothes and took his staff to stand guard while Fenris bathed.

“I am an elf. Humans find elves attractive.”

Anders glanced at Fenris, now nude and in the spring. “Those lyrium lines don’t help, honestly. Something about them makes one wonder how far they go.”

“Now, you sound like Isabela.”

“I didn’t say that I wondered. Ok, I did, but I wasn’t about to ask.”

Fenris sighed. “Yes, they are everywhere. Do you wish to see?”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

\---------------

Anders was like a child at Festivus, unwrapping their boughten goods. It had been years since he’d purchased such a quantity of new things. Well, Fenris had purchased them, but Anders was making use of them.

“I can make healing potions, stamina potions, poultices, tinctures, salves, teas....” he was prattling, feeling excitement for the first time in a long time. He paused and turned to Fenris, who was methodically cleaning and sharpening his blade. A stew was bubbling on the fire, and jugs of mead were waiting in the kitchen.

“I’m grateful for your generosity, today. You dropped a lot of coin on my behalf.”

Fenris looked at him with curiosity. “The purchases benefit us both.”

“I guess that’s true.”

“And, it pleases me to be able to make someone happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grief is so overwhelming.
> 
> OK, I have some discomfort with assigning a name to a known character. But, although I won't officially write it into the story, I'll tell you, in case you're interested. My name for Anders' real name, is Andreas.
> 
> to be continued....


	8. Reacquaintance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Fenris heal and learn.
> 
> Fenris receives an unexpected gift.

“Why Orzammar?” Fenris was sitting at the table, watching Anders pour potions into small vials one afternoon. The mage had spent weeks brewing, steeping, stirring. Some potions were more time consuming than others. Some had tricky recipes and preparations. Others, like the health potions he was working on, now, were easier than making tea. The elf was listless, and had been pacing irritably most of the day.

“It’s the only safe place in Thedas, as far as I can reckon,” he answered. “The dwarves don’t give a fig for surface politics, or the Chantry. They probably don’t even know about the Kirkwall Chantry explosion. They’ll hear, sooner or later. As a Grey Warden, they think I’m a swell guy. I mean, they wouldn’t go to extremes to protect me, should the Chantry come calling. But, they wouldn’t turn me in on their own. There’s no Templars, no Circle.” He capped-of several filled vials. “Just a lot of darkspawn in the Deep Roads.”

“I thought you hated the Deep Roads. I believe your words were: ‘Darkspawn this, darkspawn that. Taint, taint, taint, taint, taint’.”

“Too right. That hasn’t changed. I don’t have to spend all that much time in the Deep Roads. I’m not there for my Calling, after all. Just getting away from Surface politics. They’ll relate to that. I may need to join the Legion on a few missions, to maintain a front. But, between times, I can enjoy the finest of Orzammar’s luxuries. For a while. Eventually, other Wardens will show up, and that might be awkward.” He filled another group of vials.

“So, this is a temporary situation.”

“Yes. I don’t think I could live underground forever, anyway. It’ll buy me a couple years of sanctuary. After that, I can see what the lay of the land is. Make plans from there.”

Fenris was fiddling with a vial, balancing it on a fingertip. “I see.”

“Why do you ask?”

“I have thoughts. I am not sure where they are leading, yet.”

“If you decide to share them, you know where to find me.”

“Underfoot.”

“Aww, that wounds. You like having me around.”

“True.” Fenris handed the vial back to Anders. 

Anders smiled to himself, but didn’t reply. Those little confessions Fenris was wont to make... they warmed his insides. They were also potentially loaded, if pursued. The elf had a sharp wit. 

The mage handed a couple dozen vials to him. “Here... these are healing draughts. Carry them with you. Do you have a spare pouch? I need somewhere to keep the extra.”

Fenris reached into the bottom of his pack. When he’d grabbed his belongings to leave Kinloch Hold, he’d taken Hawke’s, as well. He’d shoved her pack and contents into the bottom of his. There it had stayed. He only hesitated a beat before pulling it out. Anders watched him rummage in the familiar pack. He’d seen it on Hawke’s back countless times. When Fenris pulled something out, it wasn’t a pouch. A pillow came up in his hand. He handed it to the mage.

“Maker... that’s... my mother’s pillow,” he said with shock. “How...?” He ran his fingers over the embroidery. He’d never expected to see it again. He’d carried it with him since he was 12, the only thing from a past life of freedom, family, security. 

“Hawke went back to your clinic after you... died,” Fenris explained. “She wanted your notes and journals. She took that, too. To have something of yours to keep.” He choked on the last few words. “I forgot about it. I’d have given it to you sooner.”

Anders was choked-up, as well. Familiar tears filled and spilled. “Sweet, blessed Andraste.” He hugged the pillow, crying for the sweetness of a loving friend. It was just easier to let the weeping run its course, he’d learned. 

Fenris wasn’t as quick to allow tears. As with most things, he put up a fight. He was blinking, now, and setting his jaw. He pulled a pouch from the pack at random. “Here.” He tossed to the table, and shoved the pack back in the bottom of his. 

Anders carried the pillow to the cot and set it down. He stood looking at it for a moment, then wiped his tears away. He went back to the table to finish with the potions. Opening the pouch, he found a small package inside. He pulled it out; it was a piece of parchment with Fenris’ name written on it. The mage recognized Hawke’s writing. It was folded around what felt like a small stone.

“Fenris, there’s something of yours in this bag.” The elf came to the table and reached for it. 

His hands started to shake as he read his name. Anders watched as Fenris carefully opened the folds in the parchment. A black runestone fell out. 

“Do you know what it’s for?” Anders asked.

Fenris shook his head. He smoothed the parchment and tried to read it, but between his shaking hands and the tears swimming in his eyes, he didn’t seem to be able to. “Read it to me,” he asked with a hoarse whisper.

“Are you sure? It may be private.”

“My heart has been laid bare to you since the night you found me. Read it.”

Anders took the parchment, and cleared his throat.

“Dearest Fenris,

I know that my time is short. You have done all that can be done, beloved,  
but there is nothing more to do.  
I’m heartbroken to leave you like this. I know you, and you will feel this with your entire being. You have so much love inside you. You have lost so much in life, and it’s my greatest fear that when I leave, you won’t want to risk losing more. Let yourself feel, Fenris. Let others into your heart. Let yourself share the wonder that is you.  
I wish we could have had more time together. I rejoice that we had as much time as we did. I have been blessed.  
Know that I leave happy, my love. Happy to have shared your love. Happy to have redeemed Anders in your eyes. You were my two dearest friends. I only wish you could have been friends together, also.  
This Memory runestone contains your lost memories. When last we made love, I gathered them as they appeared in your mind. They are all here, when you are ready to see them.  
Tell Varric goodbye for me. He has been the best of friends, to us all. If not for him, it’s possible none of us would have met.  
Don’t mourn me long, dearest, for I won’t be alone. I will be joining my family, again. I’ll see Anders. Know that whatever the Beyond holds for me, I will love you for all eternity.  
Live well, my love.  
Hawke.”

The last few lines were choked out of Anders’ throat, as he fought tears in order to finish it. “Oh, sweet Maker....” he laid the parchment carefully on the table and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. 

He heard Fenris’ heavy breathing, and was startled when he suddenly bellowed with anger. Anders looked up just as a chair flew into the wall, smashing into pieces. Fenris stood beside the table, face a mask of fury. He strode out of the cabin, and faltered, as if not sure where to go, or what he was doing. He suddenly threw his head back and screamed his rage with throat-tearing force at the sky. When his breath gave out, he did it again, this time with words. 

“WHY? WHY? WHYYYYYYYYY?” His roars cut the air, the agony in them palpable. 

He began to hurl objects with force.Whatever was at hand, mostly firewood. In no particular direction, at nothing in particular. He continued to bellow his challenge to the universe. “WHY HER? WHY NOT ME? MAKER, WHY? WHY?”

Tears still flowing, Anders watched from the door as Fenris vented. The ferocity of his anger was both breathtaking and heartbreaking. But, as quickly as it started, it ended. Fenris stood panting, breath wheezing slightly. He turned around haltingly, and his eyes came to rest on Anders, standing in the doorway.

“Why her?” he asked, helplessly. His voice was raw, lacerated. 

“I don’t know,” the mage answered softly. 

“I miss her every Maker-damned day.”

“I know.”

“She was the only person who ever cared about me. She looked past the travesty that I am, and saw something more. She loved me. With what little I had to offer, she still loved me.” He put a hand to his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. “Oh, Maker, I want her back,” he whispered.

“I know.” Anders wiped the wetness from his face with his sleeve, and approached Fenris. “I wish I had any answers for you, but I don’t. All I have is empathy and tears to share.” 

Fenris nodded, tiredly. He took two heavy steps, stopping in front of the mage. He dropped his forehead against Anders’ shoulder with a shuddering sigh. The mage pulled him into an embrace. They stood quietly for several moments.

Anders spoke softly.

“Do you want to come back inside?”

Fenris shook his head.

“You want to stay out here?”

He nodded.

“Would you like me to sit with you?”

He nodded.

So, they sat quietly amongst the strewn firewood. They sat, side by side, and watched as sunlight turned to starshine.

\-----------------

When the cold breeze drove them back inside, Fenris sat at the table again, holding the letter from Hawke, and and looking at the Memory Rune. Anders picked up the broken pieces that had been the unfortunate chair, and chucked them into the fire. 

“Mind if I ask you about that?” Anders ventured.

“If you wish.” His voice was husky from the stress his throat had experienced.

“What memories did she refer to in the note?”

“Oh.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “When I... reach my peak... the memories I’ve lost come back. Just for an instant. I can never remember them.”

“Wow.” He didn’t know what was more surprising; the part about the memories, or the fact that Fenris and Hawke were lovers. He’d had no idea. He thought he’d known her pretty well.

“You didn’t know she’d made it?”

“No. I remember... something a bit unusual, but I wasn’t exactly paying attention.”

“I suppose not. I didn’t realize you were lovers.”

“Only for a short time. After you were gone. Does this bother you?”

“What, me? No. I was just surprised. I’m happy for both of you, if you found joy together.”

Fenris nodded. “I’m going to bed.”

Anders stayed up and finished the potions. He glanced at the parchment and rune still on the table. He picked up the letter and read it again. It was extremely gratifying that she had thought of him. That she had hoped to see him, again. He hoped she was, indeed, with her family. 

He was tired. He banked the fire, put out the lamp and crawled in bed next to the sleeping elf.

He settled beside him, head on his pillow, and began to drift off.

Fenris stirred, and his sleepy, hoarse voice asked, “Mage?”

“Mm-hm.” 

“I’m pleased you’re here with me.”

“Me, too.”

\---------------------

Fenris stopped hiding his sorrow. 

He let his tears flow when they threatened. He told Anders when he hurt, or when he felt too raw to talk. He stopped leaving the bed at night to weep in privacy. 

Since he had first approached Anders, and lay his head on the mage’s shoulder, Fenris did so, many more times. It became his signal that he needed solace. Sometimes he did it when he was already weeping. Sometimes he did it unexpectedly, surprising Anders. The mage didn’t question him. Knowing the elf, Anders wouldn’t have expected Fenris to be able to simply ask for a hug. Instead, the mage simply embraced the elf.

Why Fenris was so open and tactile now was a mystery to Anders. He thought it might be Hawke’s letter, encouraging Fenris to share himself, and let others in. He hoped so. The elf would heal much faster, and more completely, if he shared his grief. It was certainly good for Anders. When they both found themselves weeping, and Fenris approached the mage for an embrace; it eased Anders’ pain like nothing else could. Grief shared was grief lessened. 

Fenris had yet to use the runestone. He looked at it. Held it, turned it over in his hands, considered it. Anders hoped he wouldn’t decide to use it alone. He didn’t know how old Fenris was when he received the lyrium markings, but there was bound to be 10 to 20 years worth of memories in that runestone. Given his status as a slave, he didn’t expect many of them would be good. 

But, at least Fenris had a choice, now. He could learn of his past if he wished. He had the power. It was a magnificent gift, that Hawke had given him.

\--------------------------------------------------

“We’re, each of us, still slightly unhinged. I’m not sure if I’m ready to travel like this.”

“I have no urgency to leave, Anders. We've been here for months. If you wish to wait several more, I am content.”

“I hoped you’d say that. But, I’d like to head to The Crossroads, again. Hear news of the rebellion, the condition of the highways here.”

“I won’t argue that, either. I want some more of that blackberry wine. And, honeyed walnuts.”

Anders chuckled. “You’re a man of decadent tastes, Fenris.”

“Just wine and walnuts.”

This trip to town was less harrowing than the last. Both men were at near full fighting strength, with a complete supply of potions. Late spring in the Hinterlands was beautiful. Wildflowers were in bloom, the fields were green. Bears were no longer starving, so a little less prone to attack on sight. Fenris was charmed by the little fennec foxes. They were still in full coat from winter, and fat from feeding on emerging rodents. The elf said they had them in the far north, as well, but they didn’t have the same lush coat and full tail.

“My father and I used to hunt them each winter. We’d compete to see who could trap the most. Their fur is warm and soft for hats and gloves, or boot lining.”

“I envy that you have a good childhood to remember.”

“You might have a good childhood to remember, too.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps it’s a terrible childhood. Perhaps it’s best not remembered.”

“There’s no rush. Those memory runestones last for Ages. Just, when you decide to do it--if you decide to do it--don’t do it alone.”

Fenris nodded. 

“Tell me more of your childhood, Anders.”

“Like, what?”

“I don’t know. You had siblings?”

“I had a younger sister, and a baby brother. He was seven when I left, but everyone still thought of him as the baby. He had us all wrapped around his little finger. He had the most impish grin, and mischief in his eyes.”

“You’re describing yourself, Mage.”

“I am not... well... Mutter said he took after me. Maybe he did. He followed me everywhere. He cried when I left. He was the last I could hear, as I walked away.”

“Are you alright?”

“What? Yes, I’m fine. It was a long time ago. Over twenty years.”

“Where did you live?”

“On the western border of Ferelden. I was born in the Anderfels, but my parents came here when I was very young. I don’t think our village even had a name. It was more like an extended family than a town. I would have liked to have grown to adulthood, there. Had a family. Worked the land, and raised stock with my father.”

“Life never gives what we ask, does it?”

“Not that I’ve ever seen.”

Arriving in town, they set about finding the few items they wanted, including Fenris’ wine and nuts. Anders made his way to the shop where they’d purchased his staff. He hoped the proprietor might have more mage-related news.

It was a good play. The man spoke of the rebellion in the Free Marches, and said he’d heard rumors that Kinloch Hold had had numerous discussions regarding whether or not to disband. More apostate mages had immigrated to Ferelden, followed by more rogue templars. Fights broke out continually in the northern areas of the country. 

Anders purchased a few more lyrium vials, and went in search of Fenris. 

Heading back on the road toward the cottage, he described what he’d heard. Fenris was uneasy with the news. 

“Mages, unmonitored, using their powers on the innocent populace. Was this what you had hoped for with Justice?” His tone was curious, not accusing.

“Not exactly. I like the idea of mages free, of course. I didn’t imagine so many would turn so angry. Or, to blood magic. All it takes is a few doing that, and it casts a shadow over every mage trying to do good. I’m as uneasy as you.”

“I don’t think that’s true. You’ll never be as uneasy about mages as I am.”

“No one is as uneasy about mages as you.”

“You met two of the mages from my past. Do you not feel my reserve is well-founded?”

“OK. Maybe so. But, believe me, most mages are not Hadriana or Danarius. I’m not. And, don’t bring up Justice. Look at me, right now, living with you, working with you. Am I like them?”

“No.”

“You experienced the worst mages out there, I swear. We’re not all like that. Hawke wasn’t like that. She was the best that a mage can be.”

Fenris stopped in his tracks. 

“Fenris... I’m sorry.” The mage looked into his face anxiously. The elf wasn’t weeping. Still, he turned and pressed his head against Anders. The mage embraced him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought her up.”

“No. That’s not it. Hearing her name didn’t hurt. She wasn’t just the best of mages. She was the best of people. I was so lucky...” and, then tears fell. “I’m not sad,” he said. “I was just so lucky to have had her friendship for as long as I did.”

“There you go,” Anders murmured. “You loved each other, and you miss her, and that’s all good.”

Fenris nodded, sniffling. “I’m lucky I have the chance to know you, too. She was right. You’re a good friend.”

Anders sputtered into tears, as well. He tried to speak, but couldn’t quite manage it.

He felt the elf rub a hand along his neck. “It’s alright, Mage. I understand.”

\------------------------

“How did you meet Hawke?”

“You don’t know?”

“I made a point not to talk about you, if I could help it.”

“Ouch.”

“That was then, Mage. I didn’t know you.”

“I guess I didn’t feel much different about you. Well, she came strolling on into the clinic, bold as brass. Said she was looking for a Grey Warden.”

“Sounds like her.”

“Yes. Put me on my guard, I tell you. I think I flashed a little Justice at her. Told her some cautionary tale about peace and salvation.”

“Sounds like you.”

Anders chuckled softly. They were on the edge of a good-sized, slow moving stream, with lines in the water. The mage was teaching Fenris how to fish with a line and float. They’d caught a trout, each, which was fine for supper. Another couple would take them through breakfast.

“She wanted maps to the Deep Roads in the area. We made a deal. She’d help me meet with Karl, and I’d give her the maps.”

“Karl was your friend who was made Tranquil. I remember hearing about it.”

“Yes. He was a fine man, Fenris. He didn’t deserve to be made Tranquil.”

“How did you know him?”

“That’s a long story.”

“The fish aren’t biting.”

“We met while still apprentices at the Circle. He was older than I was, and ahead of me in training. I don’t know why we became friends. We were different as night and day. He was quiet, cautious, studious. So smart. I felt safe, for the first time in the Circle. He grounded me. 

“We became lovers, in time. Not like I’d had before. Karl wasn’t a quick fling, for fun or affection. I loved him, very much. He loved me, too. I’d have stayed in the Circle, happily, if he’d been there.”

“Did he escape?”

Anders chuckled. “No. That wasn’t Karl’s way. He was transferred to the Gallows.”

“Why?”

“Ferelden’s Circle was overcrowded. After he’d passed his harrowing, he was taken away. We barely had the chance to say goodbye. It nearly killed me.”

“Yes. I understand.”

“I tried to follow. I was caught, and brought back. He was my first, and only, love.”

“And, yet you put a blade in him?”

“He was Tranquil. He begged me to. I would have, regardless.”

“Is that what you would want, if it happened to you?”

“Yes. Hawke supported my action. She said she’d rather be dead than Tranquil.”

“I would not have wished that fate for her. Nor for you.”

“Really? Once, you told me you knew mages who deserved it. I thought you meant me.”

“No. Mage, I did not mean you. I referred to Hadriana and Danarius. And, certain other Tevinter mages.”

“I’m really glad to hear that, Fenris. It’s been a sore spot for me for... six or more years.”

“Why didn’t you just ask me to clarify?”

“Oh, because you were so approachable?”

Fenris sighed. “We didn’t do very well, together, for a long time, did we?”

“Just the better part of a decade.”

“I’m sorry they took Karl from you, Anders.”

“Thank you.”

\-----------------

“Fenris... these?”

“Yes. Those.”

“You can’t eat these. They’re poisonous. You didn’t eat any, did you? I really don’t want to stick my finger down your throat.”

“No, I did not. If you cook them, they’re not poisonous. They’re delicious.”

“How do you know?”

“The witch taught me.”

“You took cooking instructions from Merrill?”

“Orana did. I was just in the vicinity. Trust me. I’ve eaten many of them, like this.”

“Then, you’re eating them, first.”

“There will be none left for you, Mage.”

“Did Hawke eat any?”

“Yes. Often. Why?”

“Well, you, Orana and Merrill all have that elf-thing going. Maybe that’s why it didn’t kill any of you.”

“You’re not right in the head, Anders.”

“Never claimed I was.”

“Is crazy an attractive trait? How did you have so many partners?”

“I’m charming. But, I think it’s worn off. I haven’t had romance in... damn. Since Justice joined the party.”

“Truly?”

“You’re surprised? Did I look like a good time, in Kirkwall?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Men don’t hold an interest for you?”

“That doesn’t matter to me. I just don’t know how romance works.”

“Well, you knew enough to interest Hawke. And, she seemed like she knew what she was about.”

“Don’t speak so about Hawke. She didn’t know what she was about, any more than I did.”

“I just meant she seemed confident. You sure you didn’t eat any of these? You’re turning bright red. Oh! Do you mean... neither of you? Really?”

“Shut up, Mage. I’ll not bandy about what Hawke and I shared, like some bar fumble.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to, Fenris. I’m just surprised. Women often keep their chastity, for various reasons. You’ve been a man on your own for a long time. I just figured you had experience.”

“The kind of experience I had serves no good purpose for a romance.”

“What do you... no. Holy flaming Andraste. No. Fenris, say it’s not so.”

“Why are you so surprised? You heard Danarius’ foul comments in the Hanged Man.”

“You said you were his bodyguard.”

“So I was. I was whatever he commanded. That’s what being a slave is.”

“Fenris....”

“Mage... fine, come here, then. You’re making more of this than is necessary.”

“No. I’m not. You’re not making enough of it. Maker’s breath, I’m so glad you had Hawke. I know you learned what making love is supposed to be.”

“Venhedis... can I not go a day without weeping?”

“There’s no shame in tears, Fenris. We know that by now. It’s OK. I’ve got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love these two. I can't say it enough!
> 
> Fenris losing his temper over losing Hawke... sniffle. 
> 
> FYI: Shaperate Memory Runestones are real. In Thedas, I mean. I do a little research.
> 
> to be continued....


	9. Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time heals.
> 
> Deep sharing leads to a deeper friendship.

Months passed in the little cottage. The grief that had so defined both of them lifted slowly. Simply living--providing for themselves, sharing their pain and their thoughts--gave the men what they needed to move past the worst of the sorrow that had gripped them. 

For the most part, they lived together in harmony. Their acquaintanceship in Kirkwall had been born in argument. The friendship that gestated in Ferelden inherited that tendency. Fortunately, the rancor had been replaced by respect. Anger turned to amity. 

And, as their hearts healed, so did their bodies. Their diet consisted primarily of stews and roasts, mostly because neither new how to cook much else. The heavy food put meat on their bones. Fenris was back up to his usual weight, and Anders was nearly to his. 

As spring became summer, more variety presented itself for the eating.

Anders came through the door with a basketful of cattail stalks. 

“Why are you nude?” Fenris asked. 

“I’m bringing naked back.”

“Perhaps you should have chosen a warmer day.”

“Ow. My pride.”

“What happened to your clothes?”

“I didn’t want to get them muddy digging these up.” He set down the basket, then took up his towel and soap. “Figured I’d just bathe at the spring, seeing my clothes are already there.”

Fenris followed him out. 

“If you’re going to be unarmed, I wish you’d have me come keep watch.”

Anders minced his way across the field in his bare feet.

“Fine. I’m going to be naked. Want to watch?”

“Keep watch. Something is wrong with you.”

“Nothing a pair of boots won’t fix. Damn. How do you run about barefoot?”

“I have thick-skinned feet.”

Anders dropped his towel and jumped into the spring with a splash.

Fenris continued to harangue him as the mage bathed.

“I mean it, Mage. Don’t put yourself in danger. Without your staff....”

“I know, I know. I’ve heard it before.”

“Apparently not. I don’t want to lose another friend.”

Anders lost his jocularity. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Fenris was quiet a moment as Anders washed his hair.

“Not that I didn’t enjoy your little dance across the field in your altogether.”

Anders laughed. “Was it my beauteous arse, or my graceless mincing steps?”

“Either.”

Anders smirked. Fenris had begun more humorous byplay. He was quick-witted, that elf, and often kept the mage on his toes. 

Back at the cottage, Anders finished a surprise project for Fenris. The elf had read and reread Hawke’s letter so frequently, Anders feared the parchment would wear through or fade. 

He’d made a preservative to maintain the letter in the condition it was. It was a potion that Anders had painted onto the parchment. Now dry, it looked like the paper had been dipped in a thin coating of wax. But, the coating didn’t crack or flake. The writing was as legible as before, but now protected. It made the parchment impervious to liquids, fire and tearing. 

He showed the finished project to Fenris, and explained what he’d done. The elf held the letter with reverence, feeling the smooth texture of the preservative. He set it carefully on the tabletop, then stepped forward and pressed his forehead into Anders’ shoulder. The mage pulled him into an embrace. Wrapping his arms about Anders’ ribs, Fenris’ breath shuddered just slightly. 

“You’re welcome,” Anders said, knowing that Fenris didn’t trust his voice to give him thanks. 

\-----------------

Once the sun went down, the men typically sat in front of the hearth. There had originally been only the one chair and stool in front of the fireplace. The elf had used willow branches to construct a crude rocking chair, which really wasn’t all that crude. It rocked smoothly. With both bed pillows in it, it was the most comfortable chair in the cottage.

He’d also made a small table to put between the chairs. It held the lantern, by which they read in the evenings.

“Why did you become a healer?”

Anders decided that he liked that question. He didn’t think anyone had ever asked it, before. Most just took it for granted that he was one. 

“I’d like to say it was to help people, but the truth is much less altruistic.”

“You seem to truly desire to help people. Your work in the clinic says as much.”

“Oh, well sure, eventually I came to feel that way. But, when I chose to study with the spirit healers in the Circle, it was for my own purposes.

“Once apprentices are able to control their accidental magic, and learn some basic spell-casting, most choose an area to focus on. I liked elemental magic; throwing fireballs, shooting lightning bolts. But, then I saw a healer and an apprentice leave the Circle to attend some sick noble or another. They left the Circle. They were surrounded by Templars, and they came back in a week, but they got to get outside the Circle walls. 

“I wanted that. I hadn’t made any escape attempts by that point. But,I thought that if I were able to leave, I could get the lay of the land outside, make a plan. And, of course, just walk, breathe, see the world around us. It was a win-win scenario.

“I told the enchanters that I wanted to learn healing, and was assigned a mentor. I watched as the day-to-day ills and injuries were addressed and learned some simple healing spells. It wasn’t hard, it came very easily to me. But, still it was a means to an end.

“Then, a young apprentice, maybe four or five years, fell two flights of stairs, breaking his leg and some ribs. He was screaming; as much as he could with the rib fractures. My mentor led me in my first healing.” He paused, his mind’s eye returning to that moment. “It was... so gratifying. So humbling. I repaired his ribs, and watched him take full breaths of air. I set his leg and healed the fracture, and his screaming and tears disappeared. 

“I was hooked. The idea that I could use my ability, my Maker-given power, to work such a miracle... that’s all I wanted to do.”

Fenris watched his face as he talked, assessing. “You could have done all that from within the Circle.”

Anders smirked and shook his head. “That wasn’t going to happen. I could no more stop trying to escape than I could stop breathing.”

Fenris was thoughtful for a moment. 

“What is it, that makes two men react to captivity in such different ways? I was literally in chains, collared, and enslaved. Yet, where you fought back, escaped time and again... I did not.”

“Maybe it has to do with you not ever knowing freedom. We don’t know what your situation was before the lyrium, but it was probably slavery. Was there a time when you were given hope of freedom? Met a free man who had thrown-off the shackles?”

“No. Apparently, I bought my mother and sister’s freedom. But, I did not remember them.”

“Then, you had no reason to hope. Danarius was powerful and rich. The chances of escaping him were slim. That you eventually did is a testament to your courage and strength.”

“Perhaps.”

They lapsed into quiet contemplation of the fire.

“Anders... I do not wish to pry... what happened when you would be returned to the Circle after an escape?”

“It depended. In the early attempts, there was increased manual labor, decreased recreation, lectures. But, as I grew older, and there were more attempts... it was less pleasant. Wine?” He stood to retrieve a bottle and mugs.   

“Please.”

Sitting back down, Anders poured them both generous amounts. “I spent time in solitary confinement. I was placed in magic-suppressing shackles. The templars hated me, by then. I made a mockery of their guarding ability. It wasn’t official punishment, but they delighted in harassment. I’d be tripped as I walked past, or bowled over as they walked past. I was accidentally locked in a back room during mealtime, and went hungry. They made special visits to my cell when I was in solitary confinement.”

“What do you mean, special visits?”

“They gave me options. If I performed tasks for them, my breakfast wouldn’t accidentally end up on the floor before reaching me.”

“What... tasks... do you mean?”

“Sex, mostly. Sometimes, healing for brothel-borne infections.”

Fenris sprang from his seat. “Venhedis!”

“Hey! You break another chair, you’re sitting on the floor.”

“You once said you’d been lucky. That you had not been beaten or raped by templars.”

“I wasn’t. I was given a choice, and that’s the one I made.”

“Hardly a choice, Anders. You know that,” he growled.

“Sex was a game for me, back then. Whether I played it with other mages, while on the run, or with crooked Templars. I used it to get what I needed. 

“I’m not necessarily proud of what I did, Fenris. Except for my time with Karl, I only cared about myself. Consider it adolescent hubris, if you will. Everything was about me. If sex furthered my needs, whatever those might be, I was willing to travel that road.”

Fenris glared broodily at the fire for a few moments. “I don’t believe you.”

“Why? I’m not making up stories to make myself look bad.”

“You would not have suffered so badly in Kirkwall had you been willing to sell yourself. You’d have had more coin, more food, more supplies for the clinic. You might have even had less Templar investigation.”

“Things changed, after Justice. After we joined, I learned about self-respect, integrity.”

“Do you still know about self-respect and integrity?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t like it that you sold yourself to passing soldiers once you landed here.”

“That was different. I was starving. I was desperate.”

“Will you do it, again?”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“I don’t want you to. I know how it made you feel. The indignity and shame, feeling less than a person.”

“I’m sorry you know how it feels, Fenris.”

“I’m sorry that you know, too.”

\-----------------------

Anders balanced the chunk of wood on the stump. He swung the axe, and split it cleanly in twain.

"It surprises me that you're so adept at chopping wood."

"I'd probably chopped nearly fifty cords by the time I was taken to the Circle. Raised on a farm, remember?"

"I must not have been. I'm not nearly as proficient."

“Do you think you’ll ever use the Memory Rune?”

“I have thought about it. I like having the choice. It’s a satisfying feeling.” The elf paused, thinking. 

“It’s such a typical gesture for Hawke. She gave me so many gifts; I shouldn’t be surprised that even after her passing, she had one left to give.”

“I know what you mean. After Justice, that was all most people saw in me. I was an abomination. Hawke just saw me. Just Anders.”

“She taught me to read and write.”

“You’re kidding. That’s... well, that’s incredible. I mean, on both your parts.”

“What is the kindest thing she did for you?”

“Redeeming me to you. And, when she kept Justice from killing that mage I was helping escape.”

“I remember that.”

“I’m sure you do. You kind of rubbed my nose in it.”

“I apologize.”

“I probably deserved it.”

“For me, it’s when she stood by me against Danarius.”

“I definitely remember that.”

“We have been lucky men,” Fenris said.

“That we were.” 

They were quiet for a while. 

“If you do decide to use the runestone, I’d like to be there for you.”

“I’d like that, too.”

\-------------------

Sleep was elusive, one night. Anders’ thoughts were in motion. Depending on how things continued to progress, they might be leaving soon. A month, or so. Trying to plan a route in his mind, predict possible problems, doing a load-out in his head... he couldn't calm his mind. He finally decided to get up. Which meant he had to try and extricate himself from the elf beside him.

Fenris had begun to sleep better in recent weeks. It was a welcome sign that he was feeling better. Previously, he was out of the bed much of the night. He had also tended to sleep lightly; waking easily to sounds, or to the movements of the mage beside him. Now, the elf was actually in the bed most of the night. And, his sleep was sound. 

It was clear the elf was unaccustomed to sharing a bed. He unwittingly took up as much space as his slender body possibly could, and then some. Adding to the problem, Fenris had no apparent awareness of his body position. Anders repeatedly awoke to find elbows and knees shoved into his ribs or back. Or, various limbs tossed over the top of him, the elf still sleeping in sweet oblivion. Anders amused himself with the thought that the elf was a closet-cuddler. 

At the moment, Fenris was on his back, sound asleep, limbs splayed freely. Anders picked up the arm that had been flung across his throat. He gently moved it to the elf’s side. Muttering in his sleep, the elf rolled over and sprawled across Anders. An arm and a leg slung over the mage, as Fenris’ head cushioned itself under his chin.

Anders sighed. The closet-cuddler had him pinned to the bed. He began to plan a way out that was least likely to wake the elf. Then, he realized he liked the feel of the elf lying half on him. It had been a decade since he’d been held this way. Even if he wasn’t really being held, the warmth and closeness was comforting. He felt his thoughts slow and his body relax. Rubbing his cheek against the soft hair, he eased into sleep.

When he awoke, birds were singing the sun up from its bed. He felt warm, and entangled. His eyelids slowly peeled back. Green eyes met his. The elf’s face held mild humor. As sleep fled, he realized they were both firmly wrapped about the other. Arms and legs were intertwined, torso’s pressed tight.

Anders quirked a corner of his mouth.

Fenris smirked in reply. 

Neither made any attempt to disentangle themselves. 

The elf burrowed his head into Anders’ chest, and heaved a sigh. The mage buried his nose into the white hair, and sighed in return. Both drifted back into sleep.

Anders woke, again, slowly, feeling warm and strangely tingly. Fingers stroked through his hair, sending a cascade of tingling delight across his scalp and down his back. It repeated, again, and again. 

It was his turn to be sprawled across the elf. Fenris was sliding his fingers through the unrestrained tresses of the mage, massaging his scalp in the most agreeable way.

“Mmmmm.... you’re going to make me purr....”

“A worthy goal,” Fenris replied softly. He continued the ministrations until Anders started to squirm. 

“I need the loo.” The elf released his embrace, and the mage crawled over him and off the bed.

Breakfast was reheated stew. 

“Where did you sleep as a slave?”

“Why?”

“Because you sleep like you’ve never shared a bed.”

Fenris snorted. “You sleep like you’ve always shared a bed.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re very... affectionate.”

“I am not.”

“If you sense body heat, you wrap yourself around the source.”

“You sure that’s me? Because, you possess the entire bed. I usually end up with half of you on me.”

“You scoot over, wrap me in a dozen or so arms, and make me your bed-warmer.”

The mage groaned. “Oh, Maker. That’s embarrassing.”

“To answer your question, I slept on a floor mat, at the foot of Danarius’ bed.”

“That doesn’t sound comfortable.”

“It was better than the slave kennels. Sometimes, he had me share his bed.”

“Maker’s breath.”

“If I disturbed his sleep, I was punished. I usually lay awake all night, to make sure it didn’t happen.”

“Fenris, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was long ago. Lying awake in his bed while he slept was preferable to being in it while he was awake.”

“I hate it. I hate that he hurt you.”

“I understand. I hate it that there are those in your past who have hurt you.”

“You’re sure it doesn’t bother you, that I’m pawing at you in my sleep?”

Fenris chuckled. “You don’t paw at me, Mage. You simply cuddle. If I didn’t like it, I’d move you away.”

“So... you do like it?”

“It’s warm. And, comforting.”

“You are a closet-cuddler. I was right.”

“You’re the one doing the cuddling.”

“Oh, right, my mistake. Big difference, there, Elf.”

\---------------------

The two men stood on the banks of the stream, watching their floats bob gently in the current.

“Anders.”

“Fenris.”

“I think I’d like to use the memory runestone before we leave for Orzammar. If there are bad memories, I’d like to to deal with them while still here.”

“Makes sense to me.”

“I’d like to make a proposal.”

“Long as you know; I can’t wear white.”

“I’d consider myself lucky if you didn’t show up naked.”

“Well played, Elf.”

“I wish you to consider something.”

“What’s that?”

“What if you saw my memories, first?”

“To see how good or bad they are. So you can decide whether or not to watch them.”

“Yes.”

“If they’re bad, it’s going to upset me, too, you know.”

“I know. It’s my hope that since they’re not actually your memories, the emotional connection won’t be as strong. That’s the only part of this proposal that gives me pause.”

“Really? Not my invasion of your privacy?”

“I told you once before; my heart is laid bare to you. I don’t need privacy from you.”

“You don’t?”

“You already know me better than anyone ever has. I trust you, implicitly, Anders.”

“Maker’s breath, Fenris.” the mage felt his throat close up.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve... I just....I’ve never had a friend like you.”

“Nor I, you.” 

The elf grunted as the mage bowled into him with a tight embrace. 

“I’d be honored to watch your memories, Fenris.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just know Anders has no reticence with nudity.
> 
> Time does heal. Eventually.
> 
> I love sleep-antics. The one with all the blankets in the morning insists it's because the other person stole them in the night. The one with bruises on their shins got them from kicking their bed partner. No one really knows....
> 
> to be continued....


	10. Making Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris learns more about himself.
> 
> Anders and Fenris explore new territory.

Fenris was an imp, as a child.

Leto, Anders supposed. But, he’d never known him as Leto, so he remained Fenris, in his mind.

Like Hawke’s memories of Anders, the elf’s memories were from his own perspective. The mage saw what the elf had seen. Fenris looked up at an elven woman with dark hair. She did not look pleased. She held her hand out and waited. A child’s dirty hand, Fenris’, reached forward and placed a pair of shears on her palm. As Fenris turned away, his sister came into view. Perhaps six or seven, she cried as she looked into a mirror. She sported a haphazard hair style; patches of bristly short hair mixed in her otherwise long tresses. The haircut was payback for eating his hard-earned candy that she’d found in his special treasures-box.

Anders had begun the plunge into Fenris’ past by making himself comfortable in the rocking chair after breakfast. With Fenris seated next to him, anxiously watching, the mage had stroked the rune on the stone. And, fallen into another man’s history. The memories had started like most people’s life memories; vague and sporadic when young, growing more detailed as the individual aged. For the mage, they played in skips and jumps. Some memories were clear, some cloudy. Time seemed to pass between points of interest. There was only occasional sound.

This elven child was quick, wily, and charming. He had a penchant for sweets, and would sneak cookies, candies and sweet drinks at every opportunity. He was seldom caught, and when he was, he apparently talked or eyed his way out of trouble. Anders caught sight of the young boy rarely, when he looked in a mirror, or reflective surface. Black hair and huge green eyes were predominant.

His relationship with his sister was apparently somewhat volatile. She seemed to be a bit of a prig, in Anders’ distant thoughts. She followed rules and expectations in a way her brother had no interest in doing. She also had magic, and seemed to hold it over him. In return, he bedeviled his sister at every turn. She delighted in turning him in to their mother for any infraction. Their mother appeared to favor the boy, and he was free with his affection toward her. The children spent a lot of time alone in the rundown tenement they shared with their mother. Fenris was always the first to run to her in greeting when the tired woman came home. Watching young Fenris cuddle on his mother’s lap was intensely sweet.

He ran with a group of similarly aged boys. As Fenris grew older, he apparently became the voice of reason among his peers. He also became a champion of the weak. He stopped more bullying and harassment in the memories than Anders could count. Even his sister, whom he seemed to dislike greatly, was saved from being picked on. Typical siblings--’no one picks on my sister but me’.

Around the elf’s age of puberty, Fenris’ mother began to work in a large estate. Apparently, they all moved there. Varania and Fenris spent more time together. There seemed to be less children about. The few that there were, worked like the adults. 

Anders was startled by the appearance of Danarius. He was merely in the view, not a major factor of the memory. He was younger, but it was undeniably the Magister. Somehow, Fenris’ mother had become one of his house slaves. That explained why they had moved to the estate.

In time, Varania began working, as her mother did. Fenris, now a teenager, was being trained in swordplay and fighting techniques. He was one of many such young men on the estate grounds. He seemed to have friends among them. He was fast, agile, strong. His facial features were growing into the elf that Anders knew. Even at this age, Fenris shared a close relationship with his mother. She brought him sweets from the kitchen.

Danarius became more frequent in the elf’s memories. The Magister came to watch the boys practice. Fenris was making himself known in the sparring ring. He grew into a strong, well-formed young man, tall for an elf. Anders saw him more, at this age, as he used a mirror to fit his armor. His expression was often solemn. An occasional glint of the childish imp came through, as he jockeyed with his friends for position in front of the mirror. 

There was a tournament. The young men in Fenris’ memories competed. Fenris, with the stamina, strength, and skill that Anders had come to know, was the champion.

Danarius fawned over him. His mother and sister were brought forward. He hugged them both, but tears fell as he embraced his mother. It seemed to be a farewell. Fenris stood and watched them walk away.

Lines and swirls were painted onto his body. He was restrained on a table. He was surrounded by Danarius’ assistants as the Magister watched, and instructed. They sliced into his skin, and doused the wounds in liquified agony.

The memories ended.

It seemed to take an eternity to open his eyes to the present. He was disoriented, then realized it was because he was on his back. He was on the bed. 

A gentle hand on his cheek turned his head, and the Fenris he knew came into his field of vision. The elf’s expression held concern and curiosity. 

Anders’ hand reached and cupped the elf’s cheek. He smiled into the great, green eyes.

“You were a good son. And, a rascal. I would have liked you, very much.”

Fenris’ face relaxed into relief. There was an upturn to his lips. “It took so long. I was concerned.”

Anders pushed himself upright, the elf helping him.

“How long? And, why am I on the bed?”

“Hours, Mage. You began to slip out of the chair, so I put you here. What was it like?”

“Fenris, you remember the procedure that gave you the markings, right?”

“Yes. That’s my first memory.”

“That’s the only thing that I could tell might be horribly traumatic. There’s good and bad, like any life. Maker, I feel like I know you.”

“You do know me.”

“No... I feel like I grew up with you.”

“Do you think I should use the runestone?”

“I won’t tell you if you should or shouldn’t. It didn’t hurt me, but I don’t know what you will feel. If you still don’t want to, I’ll be happy to tell you all I know.”

Anders’ mind was still in a haze as they ate lunch. He felt like he’d been in the Fade for an extended period. He tried to describe the sensation of viewing the memories. The hops and skips, the sketchy sound. He wondered if it would be more encompassing for Fenris, if he would see more, hear more, feel more.

Fenris was the same man he’d been before Anders delved into his past. Yet, now the mage saw so much more when he looked at him. It was disconcerting... and, wonderful. Fenris may have lost his past, but Anders could see the boy in the man. The caring son, the pestering brother, the young warrior.

“I’ll do it,” the elf decided.

“You’re sure?”

“You keep looking at me like I’m some discovery you’ve just made.”

“You are. You'll see. Better start out on the bed.”

Anders spent the afternoon watching the elf as he traveled through his own life. Fenris was motionless, though the mage was sure he detected small changes of expression on his face. 

Near suppertime, Fenris began to shift on the cot. Anders sat on the edge of the bed, and waited. Shortly, the green eyes opened, and gazed mistily at the ceiling. Tears formed, and ran out the corners of the elf’s eyes.

“Are you alright, Fenris?”

The elf nodded slowly.

“How do you feel?”

Fenris’ voice answered slowly, dreamily.

“Whole.”

“I understand.”

\-------------------------------

It took several days for Fenris to shake the near-inebriation he felt from regaining his memories. His experience had been more intense than Anders’. His memories hadn’t been removed from him, they had been blocked, or hidden. Watching them through the runestone had pulled them from hiding. Minutia, senses, sounds all resurfaced. For a good twenty four hours after he’d used the runestone, memories ran about his mind, as though vying for dominance in his thoughts. Fenris could hardly speak, for the jumble in his head.

Gradually, they settled, and the elf was able to sort them through. He talked to Anders of those that most affected him. The mage was more than grateful that he had watched the memories. He could relate to Fenris’ commentary, understand his descriptions. It was a lot like meeting an old friend, and talking about days-gone-by; except that there were no memories of Anders in the elf’s history.

"I recall, very early after receiving the lyrium markings, Danarius touching my hair. He kept running his fingers through it, saying, 'Interesting'."

"He hadn't expected it to turn white, had he? What did you think he meant?"

"I had no idea. Everything was very confusing for a while. He touched me all the time. Stroking the markings, my hair. I just assumed that that was how our relationship always was. When he finally took me to his bed, I didn't know it was the first time."

Anders pulled the elf to him. He felt incredibly protective of him, since viewing his memories. "Damn it. I can't stand it that he hurt you."

Fenris returned the embrace. "He hurt me in many ways, Anders. That was only one."

"I understand better why you hate mages."

"Hated... past tense, for some of you."

"Good. You started young, though. I mean, you and your sister...."

“Varania never really liked me.”

“I kind of got that impression.”

“She was a mage. She should have been special. She wasn’t particularly gifted. Mother wasn’t a mage, so she related better to me; and I to her.”

“You loved each other. You had a special connection. Like my mother and I.”

“Yes! Like that. I like that we share that.” Fenris seemed so pleased to have a childhood commonality with the mage. It made Anders smile.

“I’m not surprised she turned me in to Danarius, given our history.”

“Not interested in looking her up, again?”

“No. If my mother was alive, I would. But, Varania said she’d died.” Then, tears flowed. Fenris felt the tears with his fingers. “What is this?”

“After the past Spring we spent crying, you need to ask? You miss your mother.”

“I’m a grown man!” 

“Who misses his mother. You just got her back, and you’ve lost her. You’re going to feel it.”

Finally, Fenris’ memories seemed to settle into his mind the way that memories should. He would still look inordinately proud when an occasion rose for him to say, “I remember when....” or “There was a time....” Anders felt proud, for him. He also felt closer to him. For, the mage could usually recall the same memory of which the elf spoke. 

\-----------------------

Cascading tingles flowed over his scalp and shoulders. Exquisite sensation brought him gently out of sleep. He recognized it before he was fully awake. The elf was stroking his hair, again, sending delightful shivers over his head and shoulders.

When Anders opened his eyes, he was nose to nose with the elf. Once again, they were wrapped in each other’s limbs. He groaned, partly with the sensation of the massaging fingers. And, partly with embarrassment.

“Was this me, again?” 

Fenris smirked. “I wasn’t an actual witness, this time.”

“Aha. And, you mentioned a dozen arms... I sense only the usual two.”

“The extra grow in your sleep.”

“Mm-hm. Along with your extra elbows and knees, no doubt.”

“I object to that accusation.”

“I object to those elbows in my ribs,” Anders replied, digging a thumb into the elf’s ribs in demonstration.

Fenris squirmed, huffing loudly.

Anders grinned hugely. “You’re ticklish.”

“I am not.”

Anders dug more fingers into the elf’s ribs. Fenris went into spasms, twisting away from the relentless fingers.

“Mage... stop it... I’m not... so help me....” and, finally, laughter escaped him. 

“That’s the most adorable sound I’ve ever heard you make,” Anders continued his assault as Fenris continued to squirm away, still laughing. The elf finally managed to grip the mage’s wrists in his hands. 

A small jolt of electricity shot into his ribs, then, sending him into more laughing contortions.

“No fair using magic! Anders... you will pay... I swear to you....” 

Finally, Fenris prevailed. Stretched flat on top of the mage, he pinned him on his back, arms stretched over his head. Anders grinned at the elf who was once again nose to nose with him. 

“I believe I win,” Fenris said.

“Depends on your perspective,” Anders said, winking. He was utterly delighted with the elf’s playfulness. 

“You are incorrigible, Mage.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all, before. What do you plan to do with me, now you’ve got me?”

“I can hardly let you go among unsuspecting citizens. You’re a menace.” 

“But, I’m a charming menace.”

“That you are, Mage.” Fenris was looking at the mage speculatively. “Hmm.”

“Hmm, what?”

“Say the word, and I stop.”

“What do you--?”

His words were silenced by the elf’s mouth, descending over his. Anders’ eyes widened in surprise. Then, he closed them as he returned the kiss.

Fenris... knew what he was about. The mage felt the kiss down to his toes. 

It was over much too soon. Fenris slowly pulled away. The elf’s green eyes opened, and blinked at the mage. He seemed to be waiting for a response from Anders.

“Wow.” 

“Erudite, as always,” Fenris said.

“Why?”

“Because you fill me with light. Because you feel like home. Because I feel you in the core of me.”

“You really know how to answer a question.”

“If you object, please say so. I won’t force my attentions on you, Anders.”

“Did it feel like I objected?” Anders smiled, and gently rubbed his nose against the elf’s. “You also fill me with light. When you hold me, I feel I’ve come home. And, I definitely felt that kiss in the core of me.”

Fenris released the mage’s wrists, and slid his hands into Anders’ hair to cup his head.

“You don’t object to another?” 

“Maker’s breath, of course not.”

Fenris knew his way around a kiss. The mage, no stranger to being kissed in his life, found himself overwhelmed by the sea of sensations stemming from the elf’s mouth. Plush lips, nimble tongue, clever teeth. Anders sank into it, feeling the curling warmth in his belly. 

His hands slid around the elf’s back, pulling him close. Fenris’ weight upon him was sumptuous. Anders’ hips and thighs were bracketed by the elf’s legs. He could feel the strength in them as they slowly shifted, and tightened along his thighs.

Anders had been alone for a decade. Except for the occasional wank in the night, he’d become essentially celibate. He’d grown accustomed to his non-sexual state. This elf was bringing his drowsing libido out of slumber with a roar.

The mage clung to Fenris, chasing the kiss with fervent lips. The warmth and pressure of the elf’s body awakened his own. He could feel his flesh rising. He knew he would soon be in a very compromising state.

“Fenris....” he gasped into the kiss.

“Mage,” was gasped back.

“I’m... uhm... I’m....”

“Aroused.”

“Maker, yes.”

Fenris lifted his lips away enough to speak. “Is this a problem?”

“I’m not sure. I--ungh!” The elf had thrust his hips, and stroked his own arousal against Anders’. 

The mage gasped as Fenris again claimed his lips, and continued to move his body against that beneath him. Anders’ hips thrust up against the elf, and both groaned in relief. They found a rhythm, and drove themselves together urgently. 

Anders tore his lips from the elf’s, harsh cry filling the space between them. His lips freed, Fenris used them to wreak havoc on the mage’s neck and throat. The elf began to speak, kisses and bites falling upon Anders’ sensitized skin between words.

“I’ve wanted you... for weeks... as you came to me... in your sleep... pressed against my body... you so unknowing... feeling you against me... warm... sweet... strong... venhedis, Anders... your lips... your passion... everything about you....” 

Anders groaned, the words, the kisses, the heat in his groin..... he was on fire. Fenris’ hard arousal sliding over his own shattered his control. His hands grasped the tight contours of the elf’s arse, and pulled him tightly against him.

“More... Fenris... more...” he struggled to speak the words through his gasping breaths. 

Fenris’ hips ground against Anders’, the mage bucking in response. “Yes, Mage. Yes. What you do to me.... what you do.... what... you....”

Fenris’ words gave way to harsh cries as their movements became frenzied.

Anders’ entire body trembled and shook. He felt he could weep with the pleasure coursing through him. His voice keened as the tension... the unbearable tension... tightened further. 

The elf’s lyrium flared blindingly; his body surging against the mage.

“Mage... Anders... I’m coming.... ”

Anders’ neck arched back and his voice broke as he cried out. Pleasure pulsed through him, robbing him of breath and thought. He felt the elf convulse against him, hoarse shout muffled in Anders’ shoulder. 

\---------------------------

Anders held the sleeping elf tightly. Fenris had made himself comfortable on the mage’s chest, and drifted to sleep. Anders cradled his head against him, feeling the silky hair under his fingers, the sweet weight against his ribs. His own chest was alight with feelings. He was scared half to death by some of them. Fenris was his best friend. In all likelihood, his only friend. The elf knew him, cared for him, shared with him, understood him. The thought of damaging their friendship terrified Anders. Had this gone too far? Would Fenris regret this? Had he been ready for this after grieving his lost love? 

Anders wanted to kick himself in the stones. He should have taken a step back, cleared his head, talked it through with the elf. He was a bloody idiot.

He looked down at Fenris’ face burrowed into his chest. He slept peacefully. He was beautiful. He was truly the light in Anders’ life. His dearest friend. 

He sent a silent appeal to the Maker... Don’t let this be screwed up. Don’t let me have hurt him. Haven’t I done enough damage in the world for this year?

\-----------------------

“Wake up, Mage.”

“Nnnggghhhhh.”

“You’re frowning in your sleep. Tell me about your frown.”

“I’m worried.”

“Dare I ask?”

“I don’t even dare ask.”

“Then, allow me to postulate. You fear for our friendship after exploring our desires.”

“Don’t you?”

“No. I’m looking forward to more exploration.”

“Are you ready for this?”

“Mage... you know me better than even Hawke did. Yet, sometimes, you don’t seem to know me at all.”

“What don’t I know?”

“Have I ever been impetuous? Even as a child... has my life been characterized by a lack of caution?”

“Hardly.”

“I’ve wanted to bed you for the better part of a month. Believe me, I’ve thought about it. How I feel about you. How I feel about Hawke. What I want in my future. Would you like to know how I answered these questions?”

“Maker, yes.”

“I care for you, Anders. I meant what I said. You fill me with the light of your joyous nature, of your kindness and care. When you hold me, I feel that I belong, that I am part of something greater than myself, that I am home. When I see you smile, or hear you laugh, or watch you sleep... Anders, you set fire to my deepest places. 

“I will always love Hawke. I grieve her. I miss her. She was my first true friend, and my first love. Yet, even she seemed to know that you and I would be good for each other. I’m not trying to replace her with you, Anders. She is irreplaceable, for both of us. But, she was right. I need to feel, to let others in my heart, to share. 

“I want you in my future, Mage. I don’t know how that future looks. I just know I want you in it. As my friend. As my lover. As whatever conformation we take over time.

“So, to answer your question; yes, I am ready for this.”

“I said it before, and I'll say it again: you really know how to answer a question.”

“Let’s get up. You need to clear your thoughts and fears before we make another journey down this pleasurable new road.”

“No... I’m good. Really.”

“Up, Mage.”

“I am up. That’s what I’m saying.”

“Anders... that is not fair. You play dirty.”

“You have no idea how dirty I can be.”

“I’ll be happy to find out. Later.”

\-------------------------

“I think the easiest route is to just go up the Imperial Highway, and then northwest on Gherlen’s Pass. There are more remote routes through the Frostbacks, but the going is much rougher.”

Anders was digging potatoes from the overgrown garden, putting them in the basket Fenris held. If the damned elf wasn’t going to have his way with the mage, they may as well get some work done. 

They were stockpiling goods to take on their journey, when they finally decided to leave. A makeshift smokehouse was set away from the cottage, ready for the next fresh meat they brought in.

“I’ve been in the Deep Roads, but never to Orzammar. Will they let me in? I’m no Warden.”

“They’ll let you in if you’re with me. I think those lyrium tattoos would get you a free pass, regardless.”

Fenris grimaced. Anders knew he hated to be defined by the markings.

“Do they still hurt, Fenris?” 

“Sometimes. Not as much since Danarius' death.”

“Does my healing magic hurt them?”

“No. The only magic that hurt them was a spell Danarius used for punishment. It was very effective.”

“... Bastard....”

“Yes.”

“Does anything make them feel better?”

“Well... when Hawke would touch them....”

Anders chuckled. “I imagine. They lit up the sky when you climaxed.”

“Yes,” Fenris said bashfully. Anders chuckled again at the elf’s blush.

“Would you let me do some diagnostics on them? I suspect there’s latent magic in them.”

“If you wish.”

Anders bent over the soil, again, smiling to himself. He was inordinately happy about this.

\-------------------

Fenris’ brow furrowed. Blue streams of magic travelled from Anders’ fingers and along the lines of lyrium on the elf’s arms. From those lines, the blue light was carried to each connecting line, and coursed over the entire network of markings on the elf’s body. Anders focused on the feedback that returned to him through his magic.

Anders could feel the dark magic contained in the markings. Remnants, mostly, from past spells and energies that had been directed into the lines. Some spells remained, whole, entrenched. Others were whole, and free-floating. It was a strange sensation, delving into the lyrium. The mage had investigated magical objects, before; and, even people who’d been cursed. The lyrium markings were something else.

He ceased the magic flow. The elf rubbed the markings.

“Did it hurt?”

“No. It itches. Could you learn anything?”

“Yes. You’ve had a lot of shit done to these markings. Bad shit. What the hell did he do to you?”

“Bad shit, apparently. He did a lot to them, but I was in no position to ask what.”

“I can clean a lot of it out, if you want. It’ll probably hurt a little while I do it. But, it’ll make using them less painful. It’ll also make them more comfortable, in general.”

“What can’t you clean out?”

“I’m not sure. Some of the magic is intact, and imbedded. It may be stabilizing, keeping the lyrium from killing you. It may be what blocked your memories. I really can’t say.”

Fenris nodded. “Clean out what you can. I want him out of me.”

“I understand. Take off your shirt. Is there a nexus to your markings?”

“Danarius would focus on the lines along my shoulders,” he said, pulling his tunic over his head. Anders considered the markings’ connections. His shoulder lines did seem to be a central connection site. As he traced a line with his finger, it lit up. Fenris shivered.

“Was that good, or bad?”

“Ah... good.”

“Really good?”

“Anders.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll revisit that, later. This could take a while. Might want to lie down.”

Once the elf was supine on the bed, Anders experimented with hand positioning. He finally just straddled the elf’s hips. 

“OK with this?”

“Fine.”

“I’m going to be pretty focused. If you have any pain you can’t bear, don’t just pull away. I need to withdraw slowly. Just tap my face, or something, alright?”

Laying his hands over the crests of the elf’s shoulders, closing his eyes in concentration, Anders began. 

He found the magic remnants, first, and burned them away. He went after whole spells, next, and dismantled them, burning the pieces. He explored the large magics, those firmly embedded, and cleaned the rough edges. 

He sent final cleansing currents into the lyrium, to do a last sweep for anything he’d missed. When it came back clean, he sent one final surge through. Most people that had magics cleaned from their system reported a burning sensation. Anders had learned to follow the clean with a gentle healing current. 

A bright light shone through his eyelids. He carefully cracked them open, and saw the the elf’s markings were brilliantly lit. Fenris was panting heavily, eyes closed. The healing magic shouldn’t have been hurting him. Concerned, Anders carefully slowed and ceased the flow of magic. 

“Fenris... are you in pain?”

The elf’s eyes opened. The green orbs stared intensely into Anders’. Fenris grasped the mage’s hips, and pulled him tight against his pelvis. Anders gasped at the rigid bulge he felt against him.

“No,” said the elf. “I am not in pain.” 

Anders grinned, and sent another surge of healing magic into the markings. Fenris’ head arched back, a low moan escaping him.

“You like that, do you?” The mage whispered. He kept a slow trickle of magic flowing into the lyrium lines, watching in fascination as the markings lit and fluttered. The elf quivered, whimpering with the sensation.

“Mage, yes,” Fenris answered. His voice was filled with wonder and pleasure. “Please. Touch me more. Use your magic, more.”

Anders set about doing just that. Fenris delighted him with his response to his touch. He gasped, moaned, growled, whispered encouragement. His body was alight in the glow of activated lyrium, shivering with delight. His face, transported with pleasure, was beautiful. Anders was hard and wanting, after only touching the man. He let the magic slowly die away.

Fenris opened his eyes again, panting. “Anders,” he whispered. He reached out to pull the mage atop him. He kissed his lips with the gentlest of contact. Then, he did it again. And, again. It was Anders’ turn to shiver with delight. Fenris rolled Anders onto his back, threaded his fingers through his hair, held him exactly where he wanted him, and made love to his lips. 

Anders’ body was again licked by flames of want. The feel of the elf’s hot skin under his hands, the small flickers of light as his hands moved over the markings, he was sinking into desire. He felt his tunic pulled up and over his head. 

Oh, the feel of the elf’s bare chest against his. The smell of his heated skin, the feel of his silken hair. Fenris smoothed his hands down the mage’s back, raising goosebumps in his wake. Dextrous fingers slid into his hair, pulling out the restraining tie, combing through the gold strands.

The torturous mouth was consuming his. It opened over his, claiming. The elf’s lips pulled at his, trapping first one lip, then the other. Leaving his mouth for a better vantage, only to claim it again. Fenris groaned nearly continuously. Anders could feel his hard, desperate arousal, brought nearly to peak by his magic on the markings.

“Mage... I want you.” 

Anders nearly spent himself at the words. 

“Maker, yes. You can have me,” he whispered desperately.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Fenris said hoarsely. “It has always hurt me. Tell me how you wish to proceed.”

“We’ll do nothing painful, I promise you. Let me show you.” 

Anders slid out from under the elf, stood, and divested himself of his breeches. Fenris, watching the mage closely, did the same with his leggings. Anders drew a deep breath, looking down on the beauty displayed before him. He could hardly look away. He realized he was stroking himself lightly as he stared.

“Maker’s breath, Fenris. You’re so beautiful.”

“I will say the same of you, Mage. I want you badly.” When the elf reached down and took his lyrium lined member in hand, Anders groaned. 

“Tell me if you’d prefer to take, or be taken,” he managed to rasp out.

“I want to be inside of you, Anders.” Again, the mage groaned, his own arousal spiking. 

“I’m not going to make it, if you say anything else.” He climbed back beside the elf, and let himself be rolled under him, again. 

Fenris was fervent. That unbelievable mouth was sucking its way down Anders’ throat, nipping, licking, moaning. His hips squared with Anders’, and their heated skin stroked together. 

“Fuck! Fenris....” Anders desperately cast a spell, knowing he couldn’t take much more of the voracious elf’s attentions. He felt his entrance relax and lubricate, and raised his legs to wrap about the elf’s waist.

“I’m yours,” he whispered. 

Fenris shifted his body, lining himself up at the mage’s entrance. He hesitated. 

“You’re sure I won’t hurt you?” he asked with tight voice.

“Take me, Elf, I’m begging you....”

As Fenris slid inside his well prepared body, Anders’ voice raised in desperate passion. His arms and legs tightened around the elf, pleasure coursing through him as the elf began a hard, fast pace. 

“Fenris... Maker... oh, Maker.... yes... fuck me, please, fuck me... oh, don’t stop... Maker, I need you....” He knew he wasn’t going to last. He was teetering on the edge, already, back pulling into an arch from the tension. 

He heard the rasping cries and gasps of the elf striving above him, felt the tension in his body. “Mage... I won't last... I can’t... too much... unh... unh... unh... Anders... Maker you feel so good... so... so....” 

Fenris bellowed as he loosed himself into the mage’s body, trembling violently as pulse after pulse filled the mage.

Anders’ climax bowled through him, sobs shaking his chest as he spent between their bodies. He wrapped himself as tightly as he could about the elf, feeling the emotional release overtake him.

As Fenris recovered from his intense orgasm, he became alarmed by Anders’ tears.

“Mage... Anders... did I hurt you?” He tried to look at the mage, but Anders’ grip about his shoulders was too tight. 

Anders shook his head. “No,” he said between sobs. “No, I’m fine. I’ll stop in a minute.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m just really feeling it. Oh, Maker, Elf. The things you do to me.”

Fenris let out his air in relief, and chuckled. “No, that’s the other way around, Mage. I am so pleased we’re exploring this.”

Anders finally quieted himself, and relaxed his hold. Fenris looked into his eyes, and assured himself there was no pain to be seen. He stroked the golden tendrils away from the mage’s face, wiping away tears with his fingers. 

“You’re beautiful, Mage.”

“You’re beautiful, Elf.”

“I can’t describe how grateful I am that we found each other, again. There just aren’t sufficient words.”

“Believe me, Fenris.... I understand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to create memories for Fenris, obviously, since we just don't know. I couldn't bring myself to make them horrible. He needed a decent childhood, even he had kind of a bitchy sister.
> 
> to be continued....


	11. Admissions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Fenris explore new facets.
> 
> A journey is undertaken.

“Anders.”

“Mm-hm.”

Darkness had fallen as they’d dozed in post-coital bliss. Two heated, desperate couplings, along with the intense lyrium-cleansing, had left them both fatigued. Waking in a sweat, they’d risen to open the windows and share a brief sponge bath. They lay together, again, feeling the night breeze cool the cottage. 

Anders stroked his fingers through the silken strands of the elf’s hair. He felt delightfully replete. Fenris lay with his head on the mage’s shoulder, basking in the lassitude. 

“When we arrive at Orzammar, would we be able to have another memory runestone made?” the elf asked.

“Probably. The Shaperate creates them all the time. What do you want to record?”

“If you’re willing, I’d like to see your memories.”

“Of what?”

“As much of your life as you're comfortable showing me.”

“Why?”

“You know me. I want to know you.”

“Do you feel I know too much about you? You want to even it out?”

Fenris lifted his head to look at the mage. “No. Not at all. I envy how well you know me. I would like the same experience. To know you that well.”

Anders traced the elf’s features with a light finger. “You’ll see things you won’t like. Youthful indiscretions. Not-so-youthful indiscretions. Justice. If you go far enough, you’ll get to watch me as I destroy half a city and untold lives. My life is a fucking travesty, Fenris.”

“Your life is not a travesty, Anders. It is simply what you’ve lived. And, I have heard of all those things. Seeing you as you live through them will only help me understand you better.”

“Seeing it might make you understand why no one has stuck around long in my life.”

“Ah. There it is. You believe I’ll decide not to stick around, as well.”

Anders swallowed. “Maybe.”

“That’s not going to happen. If you don’t want me to see your memories, I won’t pressure you. I don’t wish to distress you.”

Anders felt an ache in his chest. He didn’t deserve the elf’s friendship, with all of his acceptance and understanding. He didn’t deserve the joys of Fenris’ passion. Before his idiot brain and idiot heart teamed up to do or say anything equally idiotic, he pulled the elf to him and kissed him. Kissed him with all the soft sweetness that he felt for him in his belly. With all the heat that consumed his body at the mere thought of him. 

Fenris let him avoid the anxiety their conversation had wrought, and allowed the mage to turn it to passion. Anders took his time. Kissing Fenris was best enjoyed slowly. He still felt the elf’s kiss throughout his entire body. The curl of the elf’s tongue into his mouth stood each hair of his body on end. The brush of the elf’s lips along his caused a pooling of warmth in his loins. Anders savored Fenris’ mouth, explored it with lips and tongue and breath. 

As he gently nipped the elf’s chin, the lyrium lines there flickered gently. He dragged the point of his tongue along a marking on his throat, and it did the same. Fenris sighed softly. Anders slid down his body, kissing and sucking the elf’s throat and chest. He included the lyrium lines, watching them glow and flutter to the music of the elf’s moans.

He traced them to Fenris’ dark nipples, and laved the flat discs with broad strokes of his tongue. The elf arched up at the contact, and was rewarded with biting attention. 

“Anders... that’s good.” The mage smiled. Calling upon his respectable skills, he seduced the elf’s chest with mouth and fingers. Not every man found pleasure in nipple-play, but Fenris clearly did. The elf moaned, taking hold of Anders’ head to gently move him where he needed attention. 

In time, Anders evaded the elf’s grip, and moved down. However terrible the markings were, however horrifying their creation, the lines were beautiful. They flowed and swirled, following the soft curve of Fenris’ musculature. Anders followed them to the elf’s naval, and explored the gentle dip with his tongue. He followed another along the ridge of his hip, and nipped at the nerve bundle found under the iliac crest. Fenris groaned breathily, twitching at the sensation. Anders moved to his other side, and did the same. 

He dragged his tongue down the crease of his hip, nudging his thighs apart. Glancing up, he saw the elf panting lightly, fists clenched in the bedding beneath them. He smiled to himself. Small bites to the flesh of the inner thighs had the elf twitching, again. Nuzzling the soft skin of his sack, Anders applied his lips to the base of Fenris’ shaft in a sucking kiss.

Fenris’ hips bucked at the contact, a surprised moan breaking through. Like most elves, his body was hairless. The skin of his pubis was silken, begging for touch with lips, tongue, gentle fingers. All of which, Fenris applauded with increasing groans. When Anders finally turned his attention to the elf’s leaking member, Fenris was trembling with restraint.

Drawing his fingers along the lyrium lines that curved up either side of his shaft, Anders sent a gentle trickle of healing energy into them. Fenris’ shout, as well as his hips arching off of the bed, bespoke its reception. 

“Again,” the elf rasped, gasping for air. Anders was happy to oblige. Several more times, the mage brought the elf up off the mattress, voice strangled with intense stimulation. Anders finally took the rigid flesh in his mouth, and swallowed him to his root. “Anders! Oh, Maker... so good. Please, don’t hurt yourself....” 

That elf. That damned elf. So concerned for his well-being while the mage pleasured him. Of course, Fenris understood the discomfort of too much. The tears that pricked Anders’ eyes had nothing to do with the depth to which he’d had swallowed his flesh. This was one of his specialties, perfected in his youth. The mage set about showing him the pleasures to be gained from deliberate practice. 

Fenris was thrusting instinctively, harsh cries filling the cottage. Anders had brought him quickly to this point, enjoying every sound the elf made, every taste, every texture. He was anticipating the elf’s peak, ready to savor all he spent.

“Stop... stop....” Fenris was pulling Anders up and away from his joyful task.

“What’s wrong?” he asked breathlessly.

“Wrong? Venhedis, Mage... not a thing. Oh, I need a second....” the elf panted.

“I was really having a good time, there, you know.”

Fenris chuckled. “You and I, both. I want you to have pleasure, as well. I hoped you could teach me something.”

“Anything,” Anders answered eagerly.

“How to take pleasure in penetration. I want you to feel what I felt.”

“I can show you that. It’s easy, Fenris. All it takes is care. I have a little spell. May I?”

“If it’s anything like what you just did, I may be done for.”

“Here,” he said, squeezing the elf tightly about the base of his shaft. “Breathe deep.”

When Fenris felt steady, Anders let go of him, and kissed him soundly.

“It hurts when your body isn’t prepared. My little trick will loosen and lubricate you, so you’re not injured or pained.” He pressed his hand over the elf’s entrance, and cast the spell. Fenris blinked in surprise.

“That’s rather... odd.”

Anders chuckled. “Now, if you want me to stop, just tell me.” The mage kissed the elf, again, slowly stroking his hand along his inner thighs, caressing his sack. Fenris groaned into the kiss, hand entangling in the tousled blonde locks. Anders’ fingers gently introduced themselves to the elf’s body, first one, then two, finding their way into the slick orifice. “OK?” the mage asked into the kiss. Questing, the mage’s fingers found the bundle of nerves, and stroked.

Anders’ hair was yanked forcefully as the elf seized in pleasure.

“ow-ow-ow-ow-ow... Anders whispered gently. 

Fenris pried his fingers out of the mage’s hair. “I apologize,” he gasped. “Maker, what was that?”

“Your prostate, Fenris. A little bundle of friendly nerves, often called the sweet spot, or magic button, or what have you.” He stroked it again, watching with a tender smile as the elf writhed in pleasure. Oh, his own arousal was throbbing as he watched Fenris groan and thrust with abandon. What this elf did to him. 

“Anders... what you do to me....” Fenris’ echoing moan nearly undid him “Show me more, before I lose myself... I want you inside of me.”

“Maker’s breath, Fenris... everything you do and say incites me.” Anders positioned himself between the elf’s raised knees, sliding his hands under his shoulders. “Tell me if....”

“I know, Anders... but, you won’t hurt me.”

The mage’s heart clenched at the elf’s trust. “Fenris....” his throat closed up, so he let his body talk. Burying his face in the crook of the elf’s neck, he slid home. Fenris clutched at him, whining with pleasure. Anders was frozen with the shock of exquisite, forgotten, sensation. “Fuck,” he whispered, reverently. His hands slid up to cradle the elf’s head. “Fenris... oh, Fenris.”

“Anders, it’s good... more....” came the pleading cry. Anders gave more. Each careful thrust was an epiphany. Tight, slick, heat. The matching thrusts from the elf. The moans in his ear. The silky hair in his hands. The lithe body undulating under his. The hands clutching his back. The legs wrapped about his waist. The taste of his skin on his lips. Fenris was everywhere, filling every sense. 

Anders came out of his elf-induced reverie enough to recall some technique. He adjusted his pelvis, and angled his shaft to bring the elf maximum pleasure. Fenris arched his back with a shout. His hips undulated against the mage, voice raised in wordless cries. Anders kept up the assault on the elf’s sweet spot, thoroughly entranced by Fenris’ response. 

Cheek pressed against the elf’s, Anders whispered in his ear, “Beautiful, Fenris... so beautiful... no pain... look at you, so lost in the pleasure... so perfect... I’m going to come so hard... because of you... the wonder of you.... sweet Fenris... my Fenris....”

His voice faltered as his own pleasure rose. Lifting his head, he was met with a sight that stole his breath. Fenris clung to the mage, huge eyes filled with vulnerable need, mouth ajar as moans were wrenched from him. He was achingly beautiful. 

The mage increased his pace, thrusts deep, hard, relentless. Fenris met his gaze, and Anders' heart blossomed. Such exquisite longing in those great, green eyes. Anders managed to reach between their striving bodies, and stroked the elf’s neglected shaft. 

Fenris’ voice left him. Mouth open in a silent cry, his neck arched back. Convulsing, he spent himself with hot, heavy bursts. Feeling the elf’s body spasm, milking his shaft, Anders wailed, his climax nearly painful in its intensity. It went on, and on, pulsing through him. By the time he could breathe again, tears had coursed down his cheeks, wetting the hair of the elf cleaving to him.

Neither moved for some time. Their breaths slowed, hearts calmed. Anders felt the light tickling of the night breeze across his back. He felt the warmth of the elf beneath his body, the soothing strokes of Fenris’ hands along his shoulders.

He spoke into the crook of the elf’s neck, his new favorite place. “I want you to see my memories, Fenris.” The elf pressed several kisses into his neck and ear.

“Thank you,” came the whispered reply.

\---------------------------

Anders watched as Fenris upended his pack on the bed. Preparations were underway to travel to Orzammar. Not overly ambitious about it, they seemed to spread the work over an unnecessarily long period of time. They hadn’t planned it that way, that’s just how it happened.

The mage took in the elf as he went about sorting his belongings. It was one of those early summer days that burst forth in heat, to remind you just what was in store a month or so down the road. They had both doffed their shirts by noon. Gazing at Fenris’ bare torso, Anders thought of better things to do on the bed than sort clothes.

Which was probably a clear demonstration of why it took them so long to do simple chores. This new facet of their friendship they’d developed, was consuming. They could barely pass each other in the cottage without groping, or stopping for a long, melting kiss. They spent twice as long in bed, because they only slept half the time they were in it. The rest of their nights--and days--in bed were filled with sultry, blurred pleasure.

Anders shifted himself in his breeches. These thoughts should probably wait. They had declared that they would clean out their packs, today. If they did nothing else before they bore one another into the sheets, they would at least do that. He poured a cup of cool cider, and sat on the other end of the cot.

Fenris had pulled everything from Hawke’s pack, and laid it on the blanket. A few items of clothing. Soap, towel, a book of love poems, her hairbrush. The elf picked-up the brush and held it to his nose, inhaling... he could catch just the barest scent of her. His eyes misted.

Anders reached for the brush, and as the elf had done, he raised it to his nose, inhaling. 

“It still smells like her,” he said.

Fenris nodded. He handed Anders the book of love poems. “You gave this to her. You wrote inside the cover.”

Anders opened the front cover. 

“‘To Hawke,  
“Let no one who loves be called altogether unhappy.  
“Even love unreturned has its rainbow.*  
“Anders.’”

“What did you mean by that?” Fenris asked. He took the cup from Anders’ hand, and helped himself to half the contents.

“It’s a quote I heard somewhere. There was someone she cared for, who didn’t return her affection. She wouldn’t say who.” He put it down and looked at Fenris. “It was you, wasn’t it? You were her unrequited love!”

The elf frowned. “I think so. She said she’d loved me for years, but I’d never returned her overtures. I was such an idiot, Anders. So many years we could have shared, had I just opened my damned eyes.”

“You still had those years. You still had your friendship.”

“You’re probably right. Still, that’s why I didn’t wait to act, once I knew what I felt for you. I didn’t want the same thing to happen, with us.”

Anders felt a strange watery sensation in his chest. He felt the power of speech leave his command, and his limbs were suddenly limp. The elf didn’t seem to notice the effect his words had on the mage, and went about sorting Hawke’s belongings.

“I’m keeping her hairbrush. You can have the book, if you like. Not that it matters. If we’re together, we can share her momentos.”

Again, Anders was grateful he was sitting, or his legs wouldn’t hold him. Fenris spoke so casually about being together. He’d made mention of it, before. But, hearing him say it again, so easily....

“Are you alright?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Feeling sad about Hawke?”

“No. Feeling happy.”

“As am I.”

\-----------------------------------------

“Fenris.”

“Mage.”

“When you first agreed to accompany me to Orzammar, you were in a different place.” The mage was sitting in the rocking chair, the book of love poems in his lap.

“I was right here, in the cottage.”

“No, you know what I mean. You were looking for a fight you couldn’t win, and didn’t care where you went.”

“True. Do you recall, less than a week ago, my telling you that I want you in my future?”

“Oh, yes. Wonderfully clearly. But, does that include a future in Orzammar?” Fenris took the book from Anders, then straddled the mage’s lap, legs over the armrests. “This is interesting,” the mage commented. He pulled the elf’s hips forward, so they were groin to groin. “Very interesting,” he amended. 

“Mage, pay attention. I wish to be with you. You need to be in Orzammar. That’s where I’ll go. If that’s where you stay, then, that’s where I’ll stay.” A frown appeared on his handsome face. “Unless... you’d rather I not. Is that where this was headed?”

“Andraste’s flaming knickers, no! I want you with me. I just don’t want to assume. I definitely want you with me... You know, this is getting even more interesting.”

“Yes, I can feel that it is,” the elf said with a smirk. “Pity the position prevents removing breeches.”

“Well, then get the hell up and take them off... honestly. Get naked, Elf. You naked is my favorite thing.”

\----------------------------

“Should we get a horse? Or, a bronto? Or, a dog and cart?” 

“You want to ride in a dog cart to Orzammar?”

“No, Elf,” Anders gestured at the pile of belongings on and around the table. “Look at all of our stuff. How are we going to carry all that?”

Fenris sighed. They did have a large amount of goods. For two men who had arrived in the cottage with barely a full pack between them, they’d accrued a great deal. Six months of hunting, foraging, processing and making trips to town had stocked their shelves and baskets.

“How many villages and inns are there on the way to Orzammar?”

“Along the Imperial Highway, there’s plenty. The last fourth of the trip is through the Frostback foothills. Not much there.”

“I’d prefer not be burdened with more than we can carry. We can sell some of it in The Crossroads. Use the coin to stock up again, before we hit the foothills.”

“Good idea. You’re pretty smart for such a pretty face.”

“Think so? Bring your pretty face here, Mage.” He took the mage in his arms and kissed him soundly. “I’m going to miss this cottage. Good things happened here.”

Anders rubbed his cheek into the elf’s hair. “Lot of healing. Lot of learning.”

Fenris nuzzled the mage’s ear. “Lot of loving.” Anders’ legs buckled. Fenris held him up, and turned him to sit on the cot. He knelt between the mage’s knees. “What’s wrong?”

Anders shook his head, not trusting his voice. He pulled the elf against him, and buried his face in his neck.

“Was it the ‘loving’?”

Anders nodded. 

“Ah, Mage. You just can’t believe someone loves you, can you?” 

Anders shook his head. “I’ve done such bad things.”

Fenris spoke softly, stroking the mage’s hair back from his face. “I know you, and I know the things you’ve done. And, I love you with all of that, not in spite of it. Do you understand?”

Anders nodded.

“What do you understand?”

Anders spoke in a hoarse whisper. “That you love all of me.” 

“I do. I also know how you look on me, how you touch me, how you hold me. So, I know that you love me, too.”

Anders began to weep. “I do... I love you. I love you so much, my heart aches just trying to contain it.” He lost his speech, and simply held the elf, crying into his shoulder.

Fenris held the mage tightly.

“I understand, Anders. Oh, how I understand.”

\------------------------------

The morning that began their journey dawned bright and promising. It would take three or four weeks, if they travelled comfortably, and there were no set-backs. They had loaded their packs, then made a rough travois for the rest. Before setting out, they stopped to gaze at the little cottage. Where Fenris had once stopped for a night, and Anders had followed him with no more hope than hearing news of a friend. 

“Mage, it took stones to walk up to that door and knock.”

“Stones, I’ve always had. Sense, was often in short supply.”

“Then, I thank the Maker that you had little sense and big bollocks. Otherwise....” 

“There’s no otherwise, Fenris. Everything happened exactly as it should.” Anders gave the elf a firm kiss to seal his conviction.

Each taking a handle of the travois, they set out. A merchant in The Crossroads was happy to buy the lot, including a trade for a tent and bedrolls. Business complete, they shouldered their packs and headed toward the Imperial Highway. 

Travel was smooth. Healthy and well-provisioned, they enjoyed the hike. It was good weather, with a cooling breeze off of Lake Calenhad. Most nights were spent at the roadside inns that dotted the highway. A night’s rent usually included a decent meal, and often a noisy bed. At several inns, they set the rickety bed to thumping or squeaking so loudly, they broke into laughter and moved to the floor to finish their exertions. It was a good trip. They enjoyed the countryside view, and they enjoyed the company. As always with the two men, conversation was easy and diverse.

“I think Sebastian had a thing for you.”

“A thing? If by ‘thing’, you mean a desire to drag me into the Chantry, then, yes. He did.”

“No, there was more to it. He admitted freely that he had been a man-whore before his family sent him to the Chantry. I think his old habits rose at the site of you, if you know what I mean.”

“Mage, you get the strangest notions.”

“You really think prayer was why he wanted you on your knees?”

“Where do you get these ideas?”

“Come on. He was perverse. He wore Andraste on his crotch.”

“Well, that was a little odd.”

“And, he kept inviting you to go to Starkhaven with him. And, wanted you to tell him the things Danarius made you do."

“He thought I’d like confession! You are twisted. Why do you dislike Sebastian, so much?”

“Besides him putting an arrow through me?”

“Yes. That’s a given, I’d think.”

“He wanted to turn me in to the Templars. He tried to get you to do it, with him. He was always judging me. And, he had a thing for you.”

“I’m sensing a trend, here.”

“Isabela did, too. Damn, Fenris. Half of Kirkwall was trying to get into your pants.”

“Isabela tried to get into everybody’s pants, because she had none. The only person in Kirkwall who wanted in my pants was Hawke. And, she didn’t get there until we’d left the Free Marches.”

“That’s Hawke. She’s irreproachable. She loved you. Everyone else was just out to use you. I hate them.”

“If only I’d known that before I let half the city into my pants.”

\------------------------------

“No... Fenris, like this. Toss it straight up, and when it comes down, put your mouth under it.... there!”

“They keep falling behind my head.”

“Don’t look at the berry when you toss it. Look up, where you want it to crest. See?”

“Ow... now I have juice in my eye.”

“How can you be so good with a sword, and have such poor hand-eye coordination?”

“I don’t try to catch my sword in my mouth.”

“I saw a guy who swallowed swords, at a festival. Longswords. He’d tilt his head back, and just slide it straight down his gullet.”

“How did it not choke him?”

“He probably exercised his throat so he had no gag reflex, and could just let the blade slip through.”

“You could swallow swords.”

“What do... oh. Heh. Yeah. I kind of could. But, I only swallow your sword, Elf.”

“I’m pleased to hear it.... Let’s take a rest break.... Behind those shrubs.”

\--------------------------

Once they’d turned onto the Gherlen Pass, the travel was harder. There were no convenient inns to stop at for the night. The foothills were tougher to traverse, and as the elevation increased, the nights were colder. With just the two of them, they didn’t keep watch. Anders set glyphs around their camp each night. On the road, both became light sleepers, again. In their tent, with combined sleeping rolls, they were warm enough.

Anders suddenly found himself awake. He held his breath, listening for whatever had disturbed him. He could feel that the elf in his arms, spooned in front of him, had held his breath as well. Good, they were both alert.

A furtive footstep, then another. Two legged. He sensed no darkspawn. Human, then. As one, both men rolled out of either side of the bedding, grabbed their weapons, and exited the tent. They emerged ready for battle. It was dark beyond the small circle of light cast by the banked embers of their fire. Anders cast a fairy-light spell in the woods closest to them. Tiny, dainty blue lights hung in the trees like little stars. They cast enough light to throw several shadows in relief.

A cry went up from one of them, and suddenly, magic filled the air with spells, flames, lightning and spirit energy. Fenris covered the distance in an instant to meet the closest, as Anders cast protective spells about them both. It took very little time to best them. They fought like apprentices, he thought; basic attack spells while standing rooted to one spot. The last to go down erupted into a rage demon, which was a bit of a surprise. It was quickly destroyed, with only minor burns to Fenris, who engaged it hand-to-hand.

“Anders... they look like children,” Fenris called out.

“No... not children... but young, certainly.” He joined the elf who was looking down at the three dead mages. In their late teens, possibly a bit older. That explained the spell-work. “They can’t be more than just out of their apprenticeships. What were they thinking?”

“Look at them, Anders... filthy, underweight, barely enough clothes to keep from freezing. These must be some of the apostates we have heard about, terrorizing the countryside. Can you tell where they came from?”

Anders looked over their robes and staves. “Not Ferelden or Kirkwall. I don’t recognize the insignia.” He stood, looking down at them, feeling sadness well-up in him. 

Fenris began to gather piles of wood, letting Anders gather his thoughts. When the elf began to move the bodies to form a pyre, Anders moved to help. As the young mages were consigned to the Maker by fire, they gathered their belongings, and broke camp. It was only a few hours to dawn, and they both knew there was no getting back to sleep after that.

Anders lit his staff to light the path, and they walked in silence. As the sun rose, lighting the eastern sky, they crested a high butte with an expansive view of the surrounding terrain. 

Fenris broke the silence. “Let’s stop to eat.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You are. You just don’t want to let yourself feel it. You have spent the past few hours trying not to feel, and sinking into misplaced guilt. Stop, sit, eat.”

Anders sighed. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but Fenris had him pegged. “If I hadn’t started this whole thing....”

“Those mages might be alive, in a Circle, possibly abused, certainly imprisoned. As it is, they made their own choices that led to them being here, and attacking unknown parties in the dark of night. Had they simply asked, they could have shared our food and slept by the warmth of our fire.” He handed Anders a strip of dried meat. “Eat.”

Anders ate slowly, thinking over Fenris’ words. “I suppose,” he allowed. 

Fenris eyed him closely. “You do? And, the guilt I see you so badly wanting to wallow in?”

Anders turned to the elf sitting beside him. “Can I wallow in you for a bit, instead?” 

Fenris didn’t answer, simply moved himself behind the mage, and wrapped his arms around him, encasing him in the V of his legs. Anders held the elf’s arms to him, and leaned into the firm chest behind him. Fenris kissed the back of his neck, and held a piece of dried apple to the mage’s mouth. “Eat,” he said softly.

Once Anders ate, and got up of his own accord to check the surrounding view, Fenris stood as well. “We’ve come farther than I’d expected,” the mage was saying. He pointed to a distant peak in the range. “That’s where the entrance to Orzammar is. A few more days.” 

\---------------------

“Is there anything I should know about Orzammar? I’d hate to insult the entire dwarven race unintentionally, or something.”

Anders laughed. “The dwarves of Orzammar consider most topsiders to be half-crazy. They expect you to do dumb things. Don’t gamble. They’re likely to kill you if they lose. Make sure of the rules before dueling. Don’t drink the ale. They put dirt in it.”

As they rounded a curve in the road, they were surprised to spot a trio of darkspawn ahead. Backing around the curve again, Anders was confounded.

“I should have sensed them, Fenris,” he whispered. “I should have heard them.”

“Are three a problem, out here?”

“Not three, but there’s usually more nearby. I should be able to sense how many, but I’m not hearing a thing.”

“If we don’t know, I don’t want to risk taking on more than we can handle. Let’s backtrack, and cut through.”

Even with having to go cross country to avoid the darkspawn, they made good time. Anders pondered what it meant that he couldn’t sense them. Even when dealing with the Architect and his ilk, Wardens could sense the taint. Unless, this was a new type of darkspawn, with a different taint. He’d be able to learn more in Orzammar.

The trail ahead was flanked by two dwarven statues. “The entrance is just a few minutes up,” Anders said. “We’re almost there.”

The usual tents and vendors were on the slope in front of the steps to the great doors. He told Fenris, “You might want to pick up some surface wine and sweets, Fenris. There’ll be very little inside.”

Fenris didn’t need to be told twice. With his packs lightened from the trip, he had room for quite a number of bottles of wine and boxes of sweets. They charged an exorbitant price, but he didn’t complain. He would need these.

Anders led the elf up the stairs and greeted the guards at the huge doors. 

“I’m Anders, of the Grey Wardens.” 

The guard didn’t smile, exactly, but his face grew less grim. “Atrast vala, Warden. You honor us with your visit. You and your companion may enter.”

Anders nodded, stomach doing flips as he approached the slowly opening doors. 

Then, they were inside the Hall of Heroes, and the doors closed, blocking the sunlight. 

They had arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *J.M. Barrie, The Little Minister
> 
> I just want to say, I'm not a Sebastian-hater. But, Anders had no love for him. And, I kinda thought Sebastian had a thing for Fenris, but not a kinky thing, like Anders thinks. ;-)
> 
> Fenders fluff!
> 
> to be continued....


	12. Refuge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Fenris settle into Orzammar.
> 
> Fenris understands Anders' motivations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI--in my canon, Anders made a visit to Orzammar while still in the Wardens.

When the great doors had shut out the last of the sunlight, Fenris took in the huge hall, with its vaulted ceiling, filled with oversized statues of dwarves. He’d heard jokes regarding the Orzammar tendency to overcompensate with architecture. Apparently, there was some truth to it.

“Maker... we’re here!” he heard Anders whisper.

“You thought there would be trouble?” Fenris eyed the many guards positioned throughout the hall. None seemed interested in the two outsiders who’d just walked through the doors.

Anders looked at him quizzically. “Fenris... have you met me? Of course I expected trouble. There’s always trouble.”

Fenris had to admit, it had often been true. “We both started new lives in the cottage, Anders. I believe your luck has changed.”

“Maker’s mercy, I hope so,” the mage replied fervently. “We need to report to the Shaperate. Then, we can find lodging in the Commons. Technically, me being a Warden, we could stay in the palace. But, that’s not really my style.”

As they passed the statues, Fenris saw that plaques, both in Dwarven and in Common, described the paragons depicted.

“There’s Branka.” Anders said. “She was still alive until about ten years ago. Apparently, she was loony. The Hero of Ferelden killed her when Branka attacked her. I knew her ex-husband. He was a Warden.”

“Why would a Paragon’s spouse join the Wardens?”

“He left Orzammar to help during the Blight. Branka left him long before then. He was a filthy, drunken oaf, but damn, he could fight. Good to have at your back, if you could tolerate the smell.”

Fenris followed the mage through the Hall of Heroes, and into the Commons. Anders pointed out those things he could recall from his previous visit, and described what he knew of the dwarven culture. Fenris had heard second-hand stories about Orzammar from Varric, as well. Between what the dwarf had said, and what Anders was telling him, he felt that he had a basic understanding of the place. 

The Commons reminded him of Lowtown. A lot of merchants and pubs. The clothing the dwarves wore seemed to have some sort of detailing about the neck, shoulders and wrists. Class identification, he guessed. He knew the society in Orzammar was highly stratified, perhaps more than in Tevinter. Coming up the stairs into the Diamond Quarter was like entering a jumped-up version of Hightown. Perhaps, more like the upper class district of Minrathous... minus the mages. Rich clothing, jewels, studied indolence... these were nobles, alright.

Anders and Fenris drew many curious looks. There were visitors to Orazammar, occasionally. Most often, they were Grey Wardens. Anders wasn’t in uniform. Fenris’ tattoos drew some interesting looks. He knew that casteless dwarves wore facial tattoos, but they were in ink. He wondered if the dwarven folk could sense the lyrium in his skin. 

The Shaperate politely and professionally logged their arrival. Anders asked about a blank memory rune. The Shaper looked curious, but quickly produced one. The Shaper explained that all they need do was think about what they wanted on the runestone, and stroke the rune. Once recorded, the information was permanent. Anders pocketed the stone, looking at the elf with an uncertain smile.

As they made their way back through the Diamond Quarter, Anders pointed out the Assembly, and the Royal Palace. 

“The Assembly was disbanded by Bhelen several years ago, I understand. He rules alone. He’s very progressive, especially for a dwarf. He’s has done a lot in the way of reform for the casteless.”

“That’s good.”

“Well... nobles don’t care for it. That’s why he did away with the Assembly. There was also a lot of talk about how he took the throne.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I didn’t live under a rock, you know. Besides, Varric always had the latest on dwarven intel.”

“You did, actually, live under a rock.”

“Well, now that you mention it, Darktown pretty much fits that description. Get used to the idea. We’re going to live under a lot of rock, at least for a while.”

“Do you need to announce yourself to the king, as well?”

“No, the Shaperate will let him know. He’ll likely invite us for an audience, at some point. Manners and all.”

Orzammar didn’t have a lot of use for inns. Most visitors were dignitaries, or Grey Wardens, and warranted a room in the Royal estate. There was a small rooming house on the Commons. It mostly rented to couples meeting outside of marriages. While polyamory was common, most middle-class or lower dwarves couldn’t afford a house large enough to house concubines. And, both partners in such affairs weren’t always single. 

The proprietor of the house was an elderly woman, who didn’t look twice at the two men. Likely, she’d seen it all, and wasn’t interested. She had an available suite, which Anders was delighted to take. Fenris followed behind him to see their domicile.

A lot of stone. Everything was stone. It made sense, of course. At least the chairs and bed had thick padding on them. Woven rugs and bronto hides scattered the floors. It was roomy, in comparison to the cottage they’d shared. A large living/sleeping/eating area, a separate loo with bath. 

The men divested themselves of their packs, stripped off their travel-filthy clothes, and fell onto the bed with huge sighs.

“We made it.”

“Yes, Mage, we did.”

“Nice bed.”

“Beats the hay-tick cot.”

“I need a bath.”

“We have one.”

When Anders didn’t reply, Fenris turned to look at him. The mage was sound asleep. Fenris felt a familiar tenderness well-up in him. 

He’d been confused and surprised by these initial feelings of tenderness toward the mage. If he thought about it, he realized he’d been confused by a lot of things about the mage. He’d been confused by the fact that Anders had shown up at his door. By the fact that he’d stayed by him as Fenris grieved for Hawke. Even after Fenris had explained Hawke’s redemption of the mage to Fenris, he was confused by Anders’ actions.

The mage was compassionate. Open. Fenris was self-aware enough to know he was a prickly, distrustful, curmudgeon. Hawke had seen past it. He hadn’t expected the mage to. Their arguments became discussions. When Fenris broke into destructive temper with the brigands on the road, or after reading Hawke’s letter, Anders was calmly understanding. He simply accepted Fenris as he was. 

They became friends. It was the last thing the elf had expected, yet it was also the most natural process in the world. Helping one another heal, sharing memories, sharing space; they bonded in a way he’d never expected. 

His gaze roamed the sleeping mage. Stripped down to his smallclothes, Fenris was able to enjoy the entire golden length of him. For that’s how Fenris saw Anders--golden. Burnished-gold hair, golden skin, gold-brown eyes. His smile and voice were like the gold of sunlight. Fenris was not one to wax poetic, but Anders could bring him to rhapsody, just with his appearance.

The first time the mage had entangled with the elf in his sleep, Fenris had been startled. A sudden memory of unwanted attention in the night had filled his mind. But, just as quickly, he realized that Anders had not manhandled him or given him commands. Once the mage embraced him, Anders had fallen into deep, restful sleep. It was... nice. Anders was pliant, smooth skinned, soft haired. His personal scent was warm, like baking bread or sunshine on a hayfield. It wasn’t long before Fenris coveted the mage’s nightly snuggle. 

It wasn’t long after that, Fenris realized he felt for the mage in an other-than-friendly way. Nothing in particular sparked it. There wasn’t a moment when he suddenly felt desire. It just... grew. As easily and naturally as their friendship had.

And, he knew... he had to broach the possibility that there could be more. He wouldn’t risk never knowing if the mage felt the same. Anders gave no indication of desire. Yet, he also gave no indication that physical connection was unwanted. He was tactile, and accepted every physical overture the elf had made. He continued to cuddle, once he knew he was doing it. It gave elf courage to act.

Kissing Anders for the first time was one of the bravest acts Fenris had ever committed. 

Confessing his love was a close second. He had known, by then, that Anders loved him. The man had no guile. His every emotion played across his face. Even for the elf, who could count only two people in his life to have loved him, it was plain to see. Fenris’ heart had overflowed each time he saw the ardent devotion in Anders’ eyes. Also plain to see, was that Anders felt himself unworthy of love. 

He reached out to stroke stray locks back from the mage’s temple. Anders hummed lightly, turning toward the touch. Fenris felt the tenderness swelling in his chest. He didn’t know what he’d done right, but the Maker, or the Creators, or Fate, had smiled on the elf. Perhaps it was repayment for having lost Hawke. She was all that was good in the world, and losing her had devastated him. Yet, somehow, he’d healed. And, in doing, he’d learned that the world still had good in it. And, against all odds, he’d been gifted with love, again. The love of this beautiful, understanding man. 

Fenris would never ask for anything, again, in his life. He had it all.

\----------------------

Anders awoke several hours later, dazed and confused by his surroundings.

Fenris had pulled the blanket over the mage, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. Then, he’d bathed, unpacked, and sat down to read. The chair was a bit low, but well cushioned.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Anders yawned. 

“You needed sleep. Nothing to apologize for. I unpacked your gear.”

“You’re good to me.” The mage wandered over and claimed a kiss. Then he wandered to the bathroom. Fenris followed him, and watched as he ran water and climbed in the tub. The tub was short, though deep. The mage, like Fenris, couldn’t stretch his legs out. Still, it was better than the washtub they’d used for six months.

“So,” began Anders, “I need to have my blood checked for the blight.”

“Why? Don’t you already know you have it?”

“I couldn’t sense those darkspawn. And, now, in Orzammar proper, I should be hearing them like background noise. I did, before. And, I’m not.”

“This wouldn’t be that Calling you talked about in the Grey Warden prison, would it?”

“No, it’s like the opposite of that. It’s like I’m not tainted anymore.”

“Does this ever happen? To Wardens in general, I mean. Does the taint... wear off?”

“No. It only gets worse. It’s really just a controlled blight affliction. In thirty years or so, it overwhelms us, and we come here to die fighting darkspawn.” He paused. “Although... Enchanter Fiona was once a warden. She lost the taint after being hit by a spell from the Architect, and then cured of that spell by him, as well. No one ever understood why, or how.”

Fenris kept his face neutral, but inside, he was abuzz with emotion. “Would this be a problem for you?”

“On a personal level, hell no. That would be fantastic. On a Grey-Warden-hiding-in-Orzammar level, it could be awkward.”

“How do you get tested?”

“Just go to a healer and have blood drawn. It’s a matter of routine, here. The blight is common, what with so many people going into the Deep Roads.”

“Was it the demon, do you think?”

“He wasn’t a demon, Fenris. But, it had to have been. I can’t think of any other reason for the taint to be gone.”

The mage finished his bath, and dried-off. “We have any food left?”

“Travel fare. In the cooking area.”

Anders tossed dried fruit into his mouth by the handful.

“How are you feeling, so far? No claustrophobia? No panic attack while I slept?”

“No. Fine.”

“You look good.”

“Do I?”

“Mm-hm. The lighting turns your skin russet, and makes fiery highlights in your hair. Your markings kind of glow.” The mage approached him, and stroked his fingers over his cheeks and into his hair. “Maker, you’re gorgeous, Fenris.” His mouth descended over the elf’s, tasting sweet from the fruit, and possibly, from simply Anders.

They hadn’t been intimate in the week it took to pass through the foothills. It was just too risky on the road, in the wilderness, to be that distracted. Regardless, the elf sighed, and broke the kiss. “I want you to see a healer, now. I’m not going to relax until I know you’re alright.”

\------------------------

Fenris was pacing in the cramped office of the elderly dwarf by whom Anders had been examined. The man had herded them into the privacy of his office, rather than test Anders in full view of the other staff and patients in the clinic. The air was filled with strange scents, likely coming from the shelves filled with strange ingredients.

Anders was sitting on a table, shirtless, legs swinging like a child with too much energy. “Would you relax, Fenris? You like a man waiting for his wife to give birth.”

Fenris frowned, and continued his pacing. As happy as Anders would be if he had been cured of the taint, the elf couldn’t help worrying that something else could be wrong. He couldn’t bear it if Anders were ill. He couldn’t even begin to think of what he’d do if....

They were interrupted by the healer’s return. He was looking at a vial of clear fluid, shaking his head. “I don’t understand it, Warden. I met you when you visited the clinic... a decade ago? You were a full-fledged, taint-bearing Warden. Now....” he shook his head, again.

Elf and human spoke in unison, “Now?”

“... Now... you’re not. There is no sign of blight in your blood or tissues.”

Anders beat both hands flat on the tabletop in rapid, joyful expression. He was biting his lip to keep from shouting aloud.

“But, nothing else is wrong?” Fenris asked.

“No. He seems to be perfectly healthy. I’m no expert in humans, but as a healer, you would know if something were amiss, correct, Warden?”

“I feel great. Perfect. Wonderful.” Fenris watched his friend, his heart soaring. 

The dwarf continued shaking his head, and sighed. “It’s just too bad that the process can’t be repeated.”

Anders' grin was enormous. "Thank you. So much.” He jumped up, clapping the dwarf on his shoulder, and made to leave.

“Anders.” Fenris said soberly.

“Yes?”

“Dress, first.”

\------------------------

The moment their apartment door was closed, Anders threw back his head and howled with laughter. He began dancing about the apartment in joyous celebration. He bounced, hopped, and raised his arms to music nobody but he could hear.

Fenris was startled, at first, then recognized the display for what it was--pure, unadulterated joy. He watched Anders as his boisterous energy released with laughter and primal dance.

Fenris couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face. 

When Anders found his way back to Fenris, he grabbed the elf by the arms, shaking him slightly. “Fenris... I’m free!” He planted a hard, wet kiss on the elf’s mouth. “I. AM. FREE!” He swept the elf into his arms, and spun them around. “Free-free-free-free-free!” He squeezed Fenris tightly, burying his face in his hair. “I’m free of the Circle, I’m free of Justice, and I’m free of the blighted taint. My life is my own. For the first time since I was a child, I am free!” 

If there was one thing Fenris could understand, it was the joy of freedom. His reaction to freedom, at the death of Danarius, had been much more understated. But, this was Anders. Anders expressed things, in a way Fenris couldn’t. 

Held in the crushing embrace of the mage, Fenris managed to draw breath. “You know, you’ve actually been free for nearly a year. You just didn’t know it.”

Anders laughed. “But, I know it now! I know that I’m just me. No restrictions, no disease, no crazy thoughts.” The mage loosened his embrace, and pulled back to look at Fenris. His golden-brown eyes, warm with joy and laughter, seemed to drink him in. His smiling mouth lowered, and captured the elf’s in a slow, sensuous kiss. Fenris melted into it, arms raising to wrap about the mage’s neck. He felt himself lifted, Anders’ hands under his thighs, and carried into the bedroom.

Lying them both on the immense bed, Anders pressed himself against the elf. Anders mouth left his lips to attack Fenris’ neck, hands already tugging impatiently at his armor. “Your pauldrons are gonna put my eye out,” he muttered, moving his mouth to nip at the lyrium lines on his throat.

Reluctantly separating, they tore off clothes and armor, and met again in a naked, full-body embrace. Anders rolled them over, so that Fenris was atop him. Fenris felt his blood boil. Their rigid shafts slid alongside and over each other. A week of denial had their cocks weeping, already, bodies fueled with ardor.

He felt Anders cast his spell on himself. The sudden, intense need that had engulfed them continued to rise. He positioned his aching shaft against Anders’ entry, and slid home.

Both men gave shouts of surprised pleasure. They were both so needy they felt overly sensitized. Fenris gasped for air, and thrust again. And, again. And, again. Anders’ face was suffused with pleasure, mouth ajar, skin flushed. Fenris gazed at him, heart in his throat.

Fenris strove to last, as he was building quickly. He panted, breaking into a sweat. He wanted, he wanted, even as he took, he wanted. Anders’ body was so tight, so hot, so perfect. His hips knew this dance, and it was all he could do to hold on as his body dragged him into rapture.

He groaned, over and over, the pleasure building, forcing itself out in sound. His throat continued its song, he couldn’t stop if he tried. Anders tossed his head, whimpering as the elf made whispering passes over his sweet spot. When the mage sobbed in frustration, Fenris angled himself, and all hell broke loose.

Anders shouted with ecstasy, body undulating madly with the elf’s. “Yes! Fenris! More! More! More!” Fenris felt nails raking across his back, and hissed, the pain only strengthening his ardor. He sat back on his heels, pulled Anders’ hips on his thighs, and pounded into him. Anders’ shouts increased, hands scrabbling into the bedding, twisting the blankets. 

 

Fenris’ passion was rising, the tension inside pulling tighter and tighter. “Anders... I’m almost there...” he rasped. The mage took himself in hand, and stroked wickedly. The sight of the mage stroking his rigid flesh was undoing the elf.

“Fenris... oh, Maker... Fenris... fill me... fill me....” Anders cries stopped suddenly, as he froze in the rictus of pleasure washing over him, his seed pulsing over his torso. Fenris shuddered mightily, agonizing pleasure flooding him. Hot fluid spent within with mage, filling him, binding them.

Once able to breathe again, Fenris lay down and pulled the mage to him. Anders was warm and pliant, curling about the elf and tucking his head under Fenris’ chin.

“You’re a delightful armful,” he said, pressing a kiss into the golden hair.

“So’re you,” murmured Anders, sleep already pulling him under. “... love you....” he breathed, drifting into slumber.

Fenris pressed the tousled head against his overflowing heart. “I love you, Mage.”

\-------------------------------------

King Bhelen wasn’t available for an audience. He was in the Deep Roads, on yet another expedition to find the remains of the Anvil of the Void. He wasn’t expected back for at least a couple of months. In that time, no official decisions could be made regarding Anders’ and Fenris’ status in Orzammar. For the time being, they would simply be visitors, welcome under Anders’ title of Grey Warden.

“I can’t keep pretending to be a Grey Warden. It’ll be obvious the minute I step inside the Deep Roads.”

“You’re not really pretending to be a Warden. You actually were one. Let Bhelen know as soon as you have an audience.”

“That’s my plan. They could use a Spirit Healer, here. The healers they have are excellent, but there’re some things they just can’t do. I’m hoping Bhelen lets me stay for healing services.”

“I have no idea what I have to exchange. Warriors are not in short supply, here.”

“Well-phrased.”

“Purely unintentional. Perhaps you will need a bodyguard.”

“There’s no one I’d rather have guard my body.”

\-------------------------

Anders was a happy, gregarious boy. 

Fenris watched as he grew, seeing his life from the boy’s perspective. As Anders had described after watching the elf’s memories, it was sketchy. Hops and skips, sound only occasional. 

The mage had presented the runestone to the elf one morning, not long after arriving in Orzammar. Fenris couldn’t help but note the anxiety in the mage’s face, the slight curling of his fingers as the elf reached to take it from his palm.

“Are you sure?” he’d asked. 

“No. But, I want you to know me. It’s only fair. You should know what you’ve taken on.”

“I do know, Anders. I only wish to know you more deeply.”

So, lying on their bed, with the mage beside him, Fenris had fallen into a childhood very different from his own.

A farm. Rugged country. A warm, simple home. His mother offering him tastes from a spoon. His father ruffling his hair, smiling as he motioned him to follow for chores, or hunting, or to visit the little village. Everywhere he goes, he trots, runs, throws his head back to watch the clouds and birds.

Anders took after his father. They shared the same long legs, slender build, crooked smile. There were many memories of the man’s hands over Anders’, showing him how to hold an axe, milk a cow, bait a hook. Fenris’ first look at the boy was in the reflection of a still pond, before the surface was disturbed by tossing in a fish line. Narrow face with gap-tooth grin, nose heavily sprinkled with freckles. He runs with a group of boys, hunting with slings and traps, fishing, gathering berries. He learns to toss the tiny fruit into the air and catch them in his mouth. 

He grew proficient in his chores and pastimes; working alongside his father with competent skill. Racing his friends across fields and through the village. Sitting with his sister as their mother taught them to read and write. Picking up his younger brother to toss him laughing into the air, hugging him, tickling him. Calming him after a night-terror.

His mother sitting near a fire, laughing with his father as she did needlework. His mother’s face, full of fear as Anders’ first accidental magic sets fire to a towel. More accidents. Each one, his mother reassures him, and then hides the evidence.

He’s tall for his age. In a small mirror, his mother helps the pubescent boy tame his strawberry-blonde hair. At a gathering in the village, a dance? His brother trots after him. A young woman-child, blushing as he asks her to dance in a reel. A stolen kiss on her cheek. 

His father, looking at him with horror. The barn in flames, the villagers forming a fire brigade to put it out. Templars, his mother’s stricken face, tucking a pillow into his shackled arms. His brother, trying to run after him as he walks between the two men in armor, away from his home.

The Circle. It’s a bit of a jolt for the observing elf, to see the site of his greatest pain and loss. Little seemed to have changed. It’s dim. Anders stares out of a window, watching rain fall on the lake. Bars obscure the view. Books. Lectures. Templars. Everywhere he looks, Templars, looking back. Running in the rain, making for the choppy lake, tackled into the cutting stones of the beach by a Templar.

Healing a child with blue magic. Approving smiles. Anders watching a pair of mages across the library share loving glances. A fumble with a girl mage in the privacy behind a bookshelf. A fumble with a boy mage in the privacy of a closet. More fumbles. More escapes. Templars’ eyes, always watching. Anders watching as another couple sweetly touch hands, share secret smiles. Looking for a willing partner, less fumbling, more skill. More focused observations of couples sharing affection. More searches for willing partners. More escapes. More Templars running him down.

Returning from an escape, thrown into a small cell. A Templar loosens his armor, Anders kneels and provides the service requested. A meal tray appears, and the mage falls on it, ravenously.

An older boy, serious, sweet, shy. Sharing affectionate smiles. Sharing affectionate pleasure. This must be Karl. Escapes cease for a while. Karl dominates his memories. Then, he is walking away from Anders, accompanied by Templars and several other mages. A door closes, the decorative shield on the back of it reflects a distorted image of a nearly adult Anders. Tears streak his bereft face.

A long time in a small cell. A cat. A seeming stream of Templars, all removing pieces of armor. All serviced by the imprisoned young man. 

A Keep. Rainfall. Templars. Darkspawn. The King. A chalice. Grey Wardens.

Anders doesn’t return to the Circle. He is in the company of a woman, a dwarf, an archer... a talking corpse? Strange, speaking darkspawn. A huge battle. The talking corpse, again.

There is a flash of light, and the corpse falls to the ground. Anders is surrounded by Templars and Grey Wardens. A blade through his chest. A great surge of power, running, alone. A boat. An ocean. The great, black cliffs of Kirkwall. 

The memories ended.

Fenris floated back to the present. He slowly opened his eyes, letting the memories’ grip relax. He turned his head, saw the mage lying beside him, anxiety clear in his features. His beautiful features. Fenris' heart constricted. The elf reached a hand and stroked along one furrowed brow.

“You were lonely. You never stopped looking for love,” Fenris said. “Running away to return to the love of your family. Bedding any willing body in hopes of finding the love of a partner. Finally, even taking-in a Fade spirit to ease your loneliness.”

Anders stared at the elf, chin trembling. “You aren’t disgusted by me?”

“No, Anders. You cast such a nonchalant veil over your retelling of your life’s misadventures. Yet, your loss and loneliness are palpable. You were used unconscionably in your cell. You sought desperately for affection. That spirit filled a need so deep and painful, you didn’t even know you had it. The spirit wouldn’t leave you; it would always be with you. And, it could help you find retribution for all you had lost. All Karl had lost. All every mage had possibly lost.

“I don’t agree with you joining with that spirit. I don’t agree with some of your actions. But, I see the road of pain that led up to it. I’m glad you showed me your life, Anders.”

He pulled the mage into his arms. Anders burrowed into him, squeezing him tightly. Fenris felt him shudder, felt his stuttering breath. Anders’ muffled voice spoke.

“I was so lonely, for so long, Fenris. I was so alone.”

The elf inhaled the scent of the man in his arms, felt the warmth of him, and replied. 

“I understand that, now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will always believe that Anders suffers from tremendous abandonment issues. 
> 
> Of course, like Fenris' childhood, I created Anders' youth from what bits of canon are out there. He's a ginger, who lost most of his red as he aged. So, there.
> 
> This tale will draw to a close, soon, but not right yet.
> 
> to be continued....


	13. The Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Fenris learn unsettling news of the world outside Orzammar.

They filled their time while waiting for the king to return by exploring Orzammar’s many diversions. Tapster’s Tavern was a slightly cleaner, noisier version of the Hanged Man. Anders was right about the ale. It did taste like dirt. For a little extra coin, Fenris purchased some surface ale. He smirked as he watched Anders navigate through the crowd. The mage tended to be slightly taller than most humans. Here, he towered above the populace. His knees folded when he sat.

“What are you smirking at?” the mage asked as he set their drinks on the table.

“You personify the expression ‘tall drink of water’.”

Anders grinned. “You think I’m a tall drink of water?”

“Hm. You’re tall. I like to suck you down. I think that describes you.”

“You’ve gotten dirty since we re-met.”

“I’ve had a bad influence sharing my space.”

“Right. Blame it on me. I think you were always dirty. You just needed the freedom to express it.”

“That’s why I ran from Tevinter. So I could make lewd comments with impunity.”

Fenris enjoyed the Provings more than the ale. The only dwarf he’d fought beside was Varric. Like the rogue’s words, Varric’s technique involved finesse and tact. He wasn’t a brute. Fenris had fought against numerous dwarves, but none were the caliber of the Warrior class of Orzammar. 

Some of the fights were clearly rigged, especially those involving nobles. Others were simply good. He was relieved the fights were to first blood, and not to the death. People dying for amusement was rampant in Tevinter. He had no desire to see it, again.

“You should enter a proving.”

“Fasta vass. Why would I want to do that?”

“You’re better than most of these fighters. They’d love to see what you can do with those markings.”

“Dwarves nearly worship lyrium, Anders. Think about it. Some noble, or the king, sees what it does, and decides to emulate the process to make a family of lyrium warriors. I was the only one of many attempts to survive the process. I will not be responsible for the death of untold dwarves trying to place this curse upon themselves.”

“I see your point.”

Fenris was less impressed with Dust Town.

“Venhedis. It’s Darktown, all over again.”

“Every culture has its slums, I suppose.”

“Not the Dalish.”

“I thought you didn’t care for the Dalish.”

“No more or less than you do. I have nothing against them, but for their Keepers’ meddling in blood magic. As a culture, they are unified. They care for their own, treat one-another with respect. No one would be left to live in such squalor. Crime is nearly non-existent between them.”

“They didn’t treat Merrill with respect.”

“She deserved none. A blood mage witch without the brains to recognize the danger of her own actions. It was no wonder she led her entire clan to death.”

“Know what I like about you? You don’t sugar-coat things.”

“You didn’t like her any more than I did.”

“True. And, I was serious. I like it that you don’t sugar-coat things. You see it clearly, and say it clearly. I admire that.”

“Ah. Well. Thank you.”

\-----------------------------------

By the time they’d grown accustomed to their new habitat, and a diet rich in nug, an invitation arrived via royal messenger. The king had returned.

Anders was sitting on the couch, talking about meeting the king. “King Bhelen is a two-edged blade. He likely killed his brothers, possibly his father, to gain the throne. Yet, he has made reforms to allow greater rights for the casteless, and even took a casteless woman as concubine. I’m hoping he will be open the the idea of us living in his city. I’d like to work with the healers on a cure for the blight sickness. Maybe, they’d....” he stopped his line of thought when Fenris lay down with his head in Anders’ lap. He smiled up at Anders, making himself comfortable.

Anders smirked down at him “Yes, sirrah?” Fenris hummed contentedly when Anders’ fingers began carding through his hair. “You’re like a big, purring cat. I like that,” the mage observed. Fenris was happy to be his cat, as long as he kept stroking his hair that way. “You’re beautiful, Fenris. Everything about you is breathtakingly beautiful.”

“You’re just seeing your reflection in my eyes.”

“Wow. That was good. You’ve been reading those love poems, haven’t you?”

“Perhaps. Regardless, it’s true.”

Anders leaned over and kissed him sweetly. “Well. We need to leave for the palace. Hold those thoughts.”

They were clearly expected, and with all respect and courtesy, shown to the king’s private reception room.

King Bhelen was cordial, polite, and smiling. 

Fenris didn’t trust him one whit. He’d seen too many similar smiles, too much false flattery. Bhelen could be a Magister.

Anders cut to the chase. “I’ve left the Wardens. I’m seeking a neutral refuge while I plan my next move.”

Bhelen looked mildly surprised, but never lost his attitude of polite concern. “You’re not the first to leave the Wardens. It never changes things. Eventually, they all end up back at the Deep Roads. Sooner or later, they join the Legion, and give their lives fighting the spawn.”

“About that.... I’m no longer tainted.”

Now, a true look of surprise was clear on the king’s face. “You’re certain?”

“I’ve been to your lead healer. He can confirm it. It’s not a cure that can be repeated. So. If you’re willing to extend hospitality to a former Warden and his companion, I have some ideas.”

Bhelen held up a hand. “Before you continue, I’ve been made aware of some events since my return, that may interest you.” He beckoned to an aide, who ushered someone into the room. Anders’ eyes widened.

“Stroud!”

Fenris recalled meeting the Grey Warden, briefly, in Kirkwall.

“Anders. I was surprised to hear you were here. More surprised to hear you are alive.”

“Are you here to try to take me in? I’m not going willingly, know that now.”

“However I feel about your alleged acts in Kirkwall, you know the Wardens don’t involve themselves in civil matters. I have a much more urgent agenda.”

Fenris had risen to move beside Anders. “What would that be?”

“You’ve heard of the Breach, I assume?”

Anders and Fenris exchanged glances. “We’ve been here for a couple months, with no outside news.”

“Ah. Well, long-story-short, an immense breach has been blown between the Fade and our world.”

“Maker’s breath! How?”

“No one is quite sure. There are those working on it. My agenda is elsewhere. Anders, have you felt the Calling? Is that why you’re here?”

“No. I was just telling King Bhelen, I’m no longer tainted.”

Stroud’s face couldn’t hold more surprise. “How is this possible?”

“It had to do with a Fade spirit. It’s not reproducible.”

“Count yourself lucky. Most of the Wardens in Orlais have felt their Calling, regardless of age or time of Joining. They’ve disappeared.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I’m searching for answers. I came to Orzammar to learn if there have been any changes in the darkspawn movements or habits.”

King Bhelen spoke. “And, I can attest, there are none. No Wardens have shown themselves for their Calling, either. Wherever they’ve disappeared to, it’s not to the Deep Roads.”

“If you’re no longer pulled by the taint, Anders, I would ask you to remain here. I will need at least one contact who is out of harm’s way. The Breach was formed by an explosion at the conclave to bring peace between mages and Templars. The Temple of Sacred Ashes was destroyed, and the Divine with it. No one is yet sure how. With your history, it’s best no one knows you’re alive.”

“Hey, the Shaperate can confirm my presence here at the time of the explosion!”

“Trust me, I have already checked. My life may be in danger, and I cannot remain here. As I travel, if I learn anything, I need to be assured I can get word out. Can I rely upon you to stay?”

“If King Bhelen agrees, we’ll stay.”

“These events threaten Orzammar and Surfacers, alike. Consider yourselves shielded by the Stone.”

\--------------------------------- 

Bhelen had an aide arrange for them to accompany Stroud out of the great doors, and up the nearest peak in the hills.

Green, pulsing, twisting, flashing... like a great, pustulant boil in the sky; the Breach was ugly.

“More Fade rifts are forming, all over Thedas. Demons pour from them.”

“This was magic. Only magic could cause such a devastating tragedy, and loose demons upon the world,” Fenris intoned.

“I hate to agree with you, but I agree with you,” Anders said. 

Stroud turned to them. “I see in both of your eyes, the desire to join those fighting this. I cannot stress the importance of you staying in Orzammar.”

Fenris answered. “We’ll stay. Have no fear. I’ll not let Anders wander forth to be killed by demons, or the Chantry set on retribution.”

“Very well. I take my leave. Maker watch over you.”

“And, over you, Stroud,” Anders replied.

\-------------------------------

All of Orzammar was talking of the Breach, and what it meant. Many in the general population seemed to consider it a problem for Surfacers. Fortunately, the king, and heads of noble houses, believed otherwise.

Information came via various channels, but the most reliable went to Bhelen. He was willing to keep Anders and Fenris abreast of the situation. Fenris knew he didn’t tell them all the news. Bhelen played his cards close. 

They didn’t hear from Stroud, in the coming weeks. They did hear from someone else. A messenger showed up at their rented suite, one day, bearing a letter addressed to simply ‘Elf’. Both recognized the wax imprint; it was from Varric Tethras.

“How in the Void did he know you were here? When you sent him a message from the Crossroads, did you tell him our plan?” Anders demanded.

“I certainly did not, Mage. I merely gave him news of Hawke’s death. I’m as surprised as you are.”

“Dear Broody,

“First of all, this letter is sent via my most discreet and trustworthy channel. It’s secure. So, don’t get your smalls in a twist about my finding you in Orzammar. I have connections, remember.

“Secondly, I can’t say thank you, but I can say I appreciate you informing me of Hawke’s passing. The two of you lit out of Kirkwall with barely a goodbye, and then nothing. For months. I’m sorrier than you can imagine to hear she’s gone. That woman was one of a kind, and a greater friend I never had. She’s missed, greatly. And, not just by me.

“I understand you’ve taken company with a mage. I cannot begin to express my surprise. Seriously. After all the arguments you had with...mages, you end up traveling with... a mage. I figured you to be more likely to put your fist through... a mage, than take a walk through the Ferelden countryside with one. This begs dearly for a personal conversation, in the future. 

“I also heard you met with a Grey Warden who was passing through. Strange stuff going on with the Wardens. I suppose I should mention that I’m in the Frostbacks, in a little shithole called Haven. After Blondie up and set the world on fire, I had to answer for it to the newly formed Inquisition. I ended up being dragged down here, due to my alleged knowledge of Hawke’s whereabouts, and circumstances leading to the giant clusterfuck Blondie and Justice started. Too bad his body was never found. I have several choice words to put in his ear about all that. Very choice.

“Should you need to reach me, just send a message to the Inquisition. Write under the name ‘Donnen’. 

“Stay safe, and slap the shit out of your new mage friend as compensation for Blondie’s behavior, would you? I’d appreciate it.

“Sincerely, 

“Varric”

Fenris looked at the mage.

“Ouch,” Anders said.

“Can you blame him?”

“Are you going to slap the shit out of me?”

“Only if you want me to.”

“Remember what I said about you being dirty?”

“Anders. You must expect that some of the people you knew will respond this way.”

The mage sighed. “I know. It hurts. But, I know. You’re the only friend I’ve got, Fenris. I’m a pariah, and likely to be killed on sight.”

“Not while I’m alive, Mage.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you truly upset by this?”

“Kind of. Varric was a good friend. Hearing him speak of me that way... yes, it hurts.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll bring him around.”

“To what? Loving the apostate abomination terrorist who started a world-wide clusterfuck? I love you, Fenris, but you’re just not that silver-tongued. No amount of glitter will make me shine, again.”

“Mage. Be at ease. I’ve got this.”

\---------------------

“Dear Varric,

“I apologize for the time it took for me to write to you about Hawke. I was not myself, for a very long time. Not until I met my mage friend, Leto. If not for him, I’m sure I would have been dead long before now. 

“Spending months together in the Ferelden Hinterlands, I came to understand... mages. Leto suffered greatly from acts of so-called Justice. When Justice prevails, it can leave otherwise good men lost. Justice has a way of overriding the true selves of those at its mercy. Fortunately for many, Justice is dead, leaving only sorrow in its place.

“Healing and mutual admiration brought Leto and I to a friendship that is rare. The results of the Kirkwall tragedy horrify him. We came here to find safety in a world that would see such a mage as him suffer. I will not allow that. Nor will I punish him for the actions of a man different than himself. I’m sure the words you speak will find their way to Blondie’s ears, and wherever he is, he will be suitably chastised and saddened.

“Stay safe, Varric. 

“Donnen.”

Anders read the letter Fenris had written, and sat in quiet contemplation.

“Does it upset you?” Fenris was unsure of Anders’ response.

“No. Not at all. Send it. I’m just... touched. You would defend me to your friends.”

“Of course. I’ll defend you to the Maker himself. I’ll defend you to your own self.”

“What happens when the world comes calling, demanding justice for my actions.”

“You’ve got that backward. They’d be demanding you for Justice’s actions. And, they won’t get you. Besides, this Breach seems to have taken precedence over the whole Kirkwall-mage-war business. You’re old news.”

“Maker, I hope so. All I want is to live a life of... life. Make amends by saving lives. Beg forgiveness of old friends, and hope they can see their way to not killing me.”

Fenris pulled the mage into his arms. “All I want is to live a life with you. Wake with you each morning, hold you each night. Whatever this world is coming to, with the Breach and the mage-templar war, that won’t change. You are my new constant, Anders. Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you.”

Anders buried his face in Fenris’ neck, feeling the peace that the elf’s arms brought. “Sometimes, I think that Hawke brought us together, deliberately. That, wherever she is, she’s watching us and smiling. You know what I mean?”

Fenris nodded. 

“I understand, completely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's possible I will pick this story up, further down the road.  
> It's possible I won't. 
> 
> Thank you for traveling with me in this tale!
> 
> Atrast nal tunsha.


End file.
